


Secrets and Lies

by Sanctuaria



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Skye's Terrigenesis, Bobbi and Hunter fight, Disney References, F/M, HuntingBird, RIP Trip, Secret Child, Spies & Secret Agents, Teddy bear named Thor, and caring for a four-year-old, in the midst of AoS season 2, while being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-10-27 23:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 134,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: All of the secrets that Bobbi has ever kept from him—including the ones that eventually ended their marriage—are nothing compared to this. She cannevertell him. But all it takes is one phone call from the old adoption agency before her plans are shot to hell, per usual.Huntingbird AU, with whole team included. Child fic.





	1. The Call

No one spoke much on the Quinjet flight back to the Playground. There was nothing much to say. They'd lost six good agents less than three hours ago in Belgium, as evidenced by the grimmer-than-usual line of Agent May's mouth and the angry look in her eyes as she flew. The low hum of the jet filled the silence between Bobbi and Hunter, who was belted into the seat across from her. She'd told him to stay, if he wanted—and it looked like he'd made his choice. If she turned her head quickly, she could catch his dark brown eyes staring at her before they darted away as soon as he realized she was looking. It seemed as if nothing had changed between them, and yet  _ something _ had—she felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a precipice, dangerously close to falling, but at the same time wondering if there might be something better at the bottom of that pit. They hadn't snarked at each other once during this trip back...a record, for them, she thought dully. Then again, it wasn't appropriate in the wake of the agents lost. Once the unofficial mourning period passed—which was bound to happen soon, as none of them had really known the agents who died—she would bet that everything would be back to normal, twisted as their version might be. 

Some days it was hard to believe that things had once been different. That they ever could have owned that little white beach house in California, could ever have filled it with little mementos of their missions as—unofficial—partners. Could ever have had those lazy Saturday mornings curled up side by side. Could have had zero doubts on their wedding day that  _ together _ was exactly how they were going to spend the rest of their lives. 

How wrong they'd been. The fighting started small—he was a bit of a slob, she got home from a mission later than expected and kept him waiting. Then it moved onto bigger things—her S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets that she couldn't divulge, even to him; his propensity to show up on her missions and compromise the operation with his presence; the lectures that she, one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best agents, would get on a regular basis from her commanding officer because of it—and even the small spats spiraled into the bigger things, until it was all one big ball of resentment and anger and love and frustration and make-up sex. They were toxic for each other, and one day they both realized it. 

A set of divorce papers later, they went their separate ways, the house sold, the mementos divvied up between the two of them. In the silence of her cold, empty apartment in DC, she'd learned that they didn't hold as much value as they had when sitting next to his, when they were shared. The happy memories had become tainted, poisoned by an overabundance of history.

“No chance you all stock alcohol in the back of this thing?” Hunter interrupted, looking around. Apparently the grace period was over. 

“You’re still on mission, Hunter,” Bobbi answered shortly. “If you’re sticking around, you’re going to have to learn  _ some _ of the protocols.”

“So I’ll take that as a no, then,” he sighed. “What happened to the days when you used to keep a stash under the seat of that S.H.I.E.L.D. van you worked out of?”

“That was yours, as I recall,” Bobbi said. “And when ops discovered it, I had to go through three separate psych evals and a lecture from Vic before command would let me back out there. Did I ever thank you for that?”

“Repeatedly,” Hunter growled, rubbing his right arm. “You’re a terror with those staves, Bob, but you still throw a mean punch.”

“Don’t do anything to deserve it, and I won’t hit you,” Bobbi told him, lips quirking upwards slightly. This she recognized. The banter, the pull back and forth. The undercurrent of tension between them—tension since the start of the fights, tension since the divorce, tension since she’d unexpectedly returned to the team from working undercover at Hydra. The tension that could snap at any moment and launch them into a huge shouting match with things thrown and tables overturned, with an outpouring of pent up emotions and hurtful words—one that would end like all the others: either in icy silence or up against the wall. This was the Lance Hunter she knew.

The other guy, the one who opted to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D., the one who seemed capable of making commitments, the one who’d held her after she found out Izzy had died—that was the Hunter who was dangerous. Dangerous because he could pull her in again. Dangerous because despite the name-calling and the bad-mouthing she'd received in her absence, she knew he was still in love with her. Dangerous because he could make her forget exactly why they always self-destructed in the end. 

There was no time to say anything else as the Quinjet began its steep descent—steeper than Bobbi would have done, but she trusted May’s flying without reservation. When the Quinjet finally touched down in the garage, the back door opened and the two of them unstrapped their seat belts. She grabbed the pack at her feet and reached for the batons at her back. Two accounted for. 

At the front of the Quinjet, May was meticulously going through her post-flight check, a strategy Bobbi knew well—a few extra minutes to compose yourself before having to give a difficult report to your superior, even if that superior was her old friend. Bobbi respected her ritual and pulled Hunter off the plane by the sleeve before he could do anything stupid like pester her, stepping off the ramp to find Mack and Coulson waiting for them. 

"May'll be out in a moment," she informed the director. "Simmons should take a look at Hunter's ankle."

"I told you I'm fine!" her ex-husband immediately protested. 

"And I saw your limp," Bobbi accused.

"Did not." 

"Hunter." She affixed him with a flat stare. 

"The lab, now," Coulson told him, ending the argument before it could really begin. Flashing her a dirty look Hunter took off, being sure to distribute his weight on both feet equally just to spite her. Jackass.

"You all right?" Mack said, stepping forward. "They figured out the safehouses in Bruges was a trap, but it was too late, you were already landing. I was worried."

"About me?" she forced a grin. "You shouldn't have." 

"Glad you're safe, though," the friendly giant uttered, spreading his arms. 

Right as she was about to hug Mack her cell phone rang, vibrating her back pocket. She shot him an apologetic look before pulling it out, gazing curiously at the unknown number on the screen. Perhaps it was someone back at Hydra who hadn't got the she's-a-traitor memo yet? No, she hadn't given her real number to any of those maniacs, she'd had a burner phone for that. She swiped across the screen to answer it, bringing it up to her ear. "Morse."

"Barbara Morse?" said the woman on the other end of the line. 

"Yes, this is she," Bobbi answered with a slight frown. 

"Hi, I'm Delilah from the Mirwood Adoption Agency. I'm sorry to call so late, but...it's about your daughter." 

Then Bobbi's entire world crashed around her ears.

  
  



	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi deals with the aftermath of the phone call that will change her life.

The next few minutes were a blur for Bobbi. She remembered uttering her daughter's name like a ghost, "Isabelle?" and the confirmation that followed. She remembered the words "adoptive parents" and "fell through" and "twenty-four hours" and finally, "foster care." She remembered saying, "Thank you," and "Bye." 

She remembered Mack staring at her with the same stricken expression, her fear reflected on his face. "Barbara?" His voice was low and taut. 

"Mack," was all she could say in reply. Her eyes drifted to the concerned gaze of Coulson and the cautious one of May, who was carefully stepping off the ramp of the Quinjet. "I—I got to go." She made a beeline for the door, vaguely aware of Mack's calls behind her and his eventual pursuit when he saw she wasn't going to stop. 

Bobbi passed by the lab in a daze, Simmons's cheery words of greeting and Hunter's not-so-subtle jab falling on deaf ears. Her mindless flight continued until all that was left was a locked door and a gray stone wall, the edge of the facility, the end of her tether. She pressed her back against it as the tears began to fill her eyes and waves of guilt and anguish wracked her body. She slid downward until her elbows were sharp points digging into the flesh of her knees.

"Barbara," Mack said again, coming to a swift stop in front of her. Through a haze of salt water and disheveled golden hair she could see him approach her, the softness in his eyes as he placed a large, warm hand on her arm. She entered his embrace without a second thought, soaking his thin T-shirt as his strong, safe arms wrapped around her. "Isabelle?" he asked gently, holding her close. "You mean..."

"Yes," Bobbi choked out. "And  _ he's  _ here, and there's S.H.I.E.L.D., and..." If anything Mack's embrace tightened. 

"We'll get through it, Barbara," he promised. "I'm here for you, whatever you need. You know that."

"I know," she said softly. Footsteps echoed down the otherwise empty hallway and she sprang away from Mack, catching a fleeting glimpse of Hunter approaching and quickly blinking her tears away in the way only a specialist knows how. "So, yeah, six dead," she said loudly in the best imitation she could manage of her normal confident tone. "Coulson's going to be hurting for manpower soon, if Hydra keeps this up." She dared not look at him, as she knew her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair a mess. Her eyes met Mack's instead and she trusted her old friend to play along. 

"Let's just hope it's not us next time," Mack said, giving her a small nod. 

"Ankle's fine, by the way," Hunter stated cockily, coasting to a stop behind her. "Guess I wasn't as screwed over by saving your arse this time around."

"I already thanked you for that, Hunter; just let it go," Bobbi said testily. Her composure remained in place by a thread, her hard exterior one pin prick away from cracking open in front of him. 

"Actually, I don't seem to remember a thank-you, just an acknowledgement." She could see in her mind's eye the beginnings of that self-satisfied grin of his, but Bobbi was in no mood to humor their dance. 

"Go away, Hunter," she warned through clenched teeth. 

" _ You _ shove off," he countered, growing annoyed. "What are you two doing down here anyways?"

"Having a conversation between two civilized people," Bobbi spat back. "What are  _ you _ doing down here?"

"You're standing in front of my room, love," Hunter said, stepping forward. Shit, he was right. She shifted to the side slightly, she and Mack clearing a pathway to the aforementioned door. Hunter slammed it behind him for effect, and Bobbi let out a heavy breath, immediately stepping closer to Mack again. 

"What do I do?" she whispered, exerting control over her own faculties by sheer force of will. She would not cry again, not in a public area, not when someone like Lance Hunter—the absolute last one she'd want to see—could walk by. 

"We," Mack reminded her, "are going to lock ourselves in the front of the van just like old times, and you are going to tell me exactly what happened."

"But I don't know!" Bobbi protested, shaking her head. "She was talking and talking but all I could think about was Isabelle and... I should've been able to do this in my sleep, Mack; it's what I've been trained to do. Gather intel, no matter what that intel is or how much impact it has on me. But with her I just can't...I can't..."

"Come on," Mack said, steering her back towards the garage and glancing furtively down each hallway. As they passed Coulson's office, they could just make out the director and his second-in-command discussing the Bruges tragedy. "Just like old times," Mack repeated, opening the driver's side door and getting in. Bobbi climbed in on the other side and, despite everything, couldn't help but scoff at his words. 

"I never let you drive."

Mack gave her a half-smile and nodded his agreement. "Now, what exactly did the person on the phone say?"

"Um..." Bobbi thought back desperately. "That Isabelle's foster parents aren't able to keep her anymore, and—"

"Jesus, Barbara, you had me thinking Isabelle was dead!" Mack swore. 

"What? No, she's fine," Bobbi said quickly. "But they're going to put her in foster care, and failing that, an orphanage. I have twenty-four hours to make a request if I want to arrange other options for her."

"Then you should do that," Mack told her, still shaking off the remnants of misplaced grief.

"My parents aren't equipped to raise another kid right now, and I was an only child," Bobbi said. "I've no family to give her to."

"That's not what I meant," Mack said in a low voice. "You could adopt Isabelle yourself, you know. Give her a proper home."

"A proper home?" Bobbi repeated. "What about any part of my life is 'proper'? We work for a secret organization that arose from the ashes of another secret organization that fell because the evil group Hydra had secretly been infiltrating their ranks, starting with the Nazis in the 1940s. The director who saved New York from our own nuclear missile launch with the Avengers program is now dead, and in his place we've got a good man with the unfortunate yet uncontrollable compulsion to carve mysterious patterns on the walls. Until three weeks ago we were all labeled terrorists by our own government. And I won't even get  _ started _ on Hunter. You really think this is any sort of proper place to raise a child?"

Mack growled deep in his throat. "When you put it like that..."

"There is no other way to put it," Bobbi said. 

"You could think of it as adopting her into a tight-knit family that's been through tough times together and only come out stronger."

"A family of trained killers," Bobbi muttered. "Isabelle'd be better off in foster care. As good of an agent as he was, Coulson's not all there anymore. May's smiled exactly twice in the years I've known her. Fitz's brain is still damaged from the Hydra psycho we have locked up in the basement—"

"They're shipping Ward out to his brother today," Mack informed her.

"Still," Bobbi said. "And me...I'm about as motherly as Romanoff, and you saw her when Sitwell introduced her to his kids." 

Mack cracked a smile. "White as a sheet. But Barbara..."

"I just...twenty-four hours, okay?" Bobbi sighed, hand on the door handle. "I need some time to think about it." She stepped down from the van, turning to close the door. 

"What do I tell Coulson?" Mack asked, not moving from his seat. 

"Nothing." The car door slammed a little harder than she meant it to. But Bobbi couldn't bring herself to care. 

She had bigger things to worry about. 


	3. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi makes her decision.

_ "Okay, I need you to push now," the nurse beside her instructed as Bobbi's fingers clawed the sheets. "On your next contraction, push really hard. You're doing great." With the number of times she'd heard that from this woman, she would have thought this agony would have been over by now.  _

_ Bobbi couldn't help but let out a small cry as a fresh wave of fiery pain came over her legs and abdomen, but she pushed as the nurse had said. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist, damn it, and she was going to get this baby out of her if it was the last thing she _ _ — _

_ Augghh. Her breathing came in rapid, light gasps and sweat coated her frame. "I can see the head!" the nurse told her cheerily. "You're almost done; you're doing great!" Bobbi fisted the sheets in response, throwing her head back at the next onset. This was...incomparable anything she'd done in the field, like she was being torn in two from the inside. Vaguely in between the now-fast coming contractions she thought of Mack in the waiting room, where she'd told him not to be. She hadn't asked anyone to come for this, hadn't asked for any of it. But as a true friend would he'd ignored her bull-headed request to suffer in solitude. But she would have to have put her foot down for real had he tried to barge into the birthing room. This was an ordeal she didn’t really need an audience for—even if that audience was the brother she never had.  _

_ With the next wave there was a massive release of tension and the nurse exclaimed in delight as the piercing wail of an infant filled the small, sterile room. Her infant, Bobbi thought lazily.  _

_ "It's a girl," the nurse told her proudly, confirming the three ultrasound pictures Bobbi currently had stashed in her desk drawer. She could only catch a glimpse of the tiny squirming body before the nurse had cut the cord and whisked it—her—away to the exam table in the corner, where Bobbi knew they would clean her up, count fingers and toes, take a blood sample, give her a dose of Vitamin K, and immunize her against hepatitis B before wrapping her in a pretty pink blanket and handing her back.  _

_ Bobbi tried to ignore the fact that her baby was about to be stabbed with a large hypodermic needle.  _

_ After a few minutes of tense waiting—already, though she couldn't understand it, she missed the baby she'd been carrying close to her for nine months like an ache in every cell of her body—the nurse returned with a small bundle which she placed carefully on Bobbi's chest. Bobbi curled her arms around it, hugging it gently to her before daring to look down. A red, wrinkled little face stared up at her, and at once a feeling of intense anguish sparked within her. For a moment she knew as clear as day Hunter should be here, and it was like they'd separated yesterday instead of nearly eight months ago. Their daughter even looked a bit like him, although Bobbi couldn't even start to identify exactly what features caused that connection in her head.  _

_ Then Bobbi forced her ex-husband from her mind and lifted one hand—shaking from emotion or exhaustion or both—and stroked her thumb over her baby's soft forehead. "Do you have a name picked out?" the nurse asked kindly.  _

_ "Yes. Isabelle. Isabelle Marie Morse," Bobbi murmured, still staring down at the bundle in her arms. Isabelle sneezed, and Bobbi nearly jumped at the sudden movement of her otherwise languid baby. Then she smiled. _

_ The door to the birthing room opened, and Bobbi looked up to see a man in a dark suit entering. The nurse did not seem to notice his presence in the slightest, but something about him made her want to tuck her still-aching legs up to her chest and her blood run cold. She hugged Isabelle tighter to her chest, beginning to shake her head emphatically. "No." _

_ "Yes. It's time, Ms. Morse," the man said. He somehow plucked the pink bundle out of her arms, cradling it and looking down at her daughter. His eyes remained icy and impassive.  _

_ "No, please, don't..." Bobbi begged, reaching out for her daughter. Fear clutched at her heart, ignited every nerve in her body.  _

_ "It's for the best, Ms. Morse, you know that," he told her, turning away and taking her baby with him.  _

"Hey," someone said, shaking her. "Hey." Bobbi's eyes snapped open to see Skye's concerned face above her, and only her post-nightmare disorientation prevented Skye from getting put immediately into a headlock. "Hey, you were having a nightmare." Bobbi blinked several times and her room at the Playground slowly came into focus. She pushed herself into a sitting position, noting the way the covers were strewn helter-skelter around her. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

Skye smiled. "Yes, but that's okay. The walls here are thin."

"Thanks for...you know," Bobbi gestured around her. "Waking me up."

"No problem," Skye said. The young hacker perched on the edge of her bed as if planning to stay. "You want to talk about it?" Bobbi must have frowned slightly because Skye added, "I'm a really good listener."

Bobbi gave a wry smile. "How are you with secrets?" She'd meant it as a sort-of joke but Skye seemed to think about the question seriously. 

"My past may not look like it what with all the Rising Tide stuff, but I've kept my share," Skye replied carefully. "It must've been really bad. May gives me the feeling specialists aren't supposed to have nightmares."

"Biggest lie in the book," Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess we are equipped to deal, but...some things surpass that. A really bad mission, or..."

"I'm listening."

Bobbi considered it for a moment. It might be good to get some perspective. A woman's perspective, and someone who wasn't trained not to wear her heart on her sleeve like the rest of them were. "You won't tell Hunter?"

"Your ex-husband? Wow, how bad at keeping secrets do you think I am?" Skye caught her eye and nodded. "Sorry. No, I won't."

"I had a daughter." Bobbi watched the hacker's face for any flicker of shock or indignation. Nothing. "That's what I was dreaming about. Her."

"A daughter," Skye said. "...had?"

"I gave her up," Bobbi admitted. "The nightmare, it was half-dream, half-memory...giving birth, that was all the same, but the man who came to take her away... That wasn't how it happened. It was my choice. Three weeks after we got home from the hospital...I finally realized what I knew in my heart. That I couldn't keep her."

"That must have been hard," Skye told her, sympathy in her gaze. 

"I thought it could give her a better life," Bobbi continued. "I'd used S.H.I.E.L.D. resources to check out the parents, did everything I could to ensure she'd have a happy life, but now...something went wrong. They're sending her back, and I have..." She checked her phone. "Less than seventeen hours to decide whether I'll let her go into foster care..."

The effect on Skye was immediate as her pupils dilated and the soft, reassuring smile she'd been keeping up dropped off her face. "Foster care?"

Bobbi cocked her head, running a hand through her sleep-mussed curls. "Yes, why?"

"I...I was in foster care," Skye said falteringly. "Moved from home to home, never in one place for more than a few months."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah, it's not something I advertise," Skye replied. The first hint of bitterness Bobbi had ever heard from the normally cheerful hacker laced her voice. "I couldn't wait to turn eighteen and get out of the system." The naked fear must have shown in Bobbi's eyes because Skye backtracked, saying, "I mean, it's probably not like that for all kids. In my case I later found out that it was S.H.I.E.L.D. making sure I was being moved to keep me safe from my past—my father—but I knew other kids like me. Normal kids. It's the reason I got into hacking and joined the Rising Tide in the first place—to find out information about my parents. Why they couldn't keep me, or why they didn't want to."

"I don't want Isabelle to go through that," Bobbi said uncertainly. "But what kind of life can I offer her here?"

"It's not so bad," Skye murmured, looking around the room. "Coulson would take you off active duty, I'm sure. It's not like you're taking her into the middle of a war zone. And everyone here would care for her." The hacker smiled. "She'd be the most spoiled kid for miles around with all of us watching over her."

"But Hunter..."

"I don't know everything that's gone on between the two of you, but I doubt he'd hold any of that over your child," Skye said. 

Bobbi snorted. "Have you met the guy?" She paused. "No, sorry, that was unfair. You...you think I should bring her here?" The younger woman looked almost uncomfortable with the weighty question, but nodded. 

"How old is she now?"

"Four," Bobbi revealed. "She would have had her fourth birthday just last December."

"A Christmas baby," Skye smiled. "Isabelle. Is that for Hartley? But back then she wouldn't have been..."

"Yeah, it's for Izzy," Bobbi said. "Back when I was about six months pregnant with Isabelle, Izzy went MIA on a mission of hers. By the time she was born, we all presumed her dead... I named the baby Isabelle, in her honor. Then of course Izzy resurfaced two months later, but I never told her about the child. I just...didn't know how to even start that conversation, seeing as I didn't even have Isabelle by then..."

Skye nodded. "I get it."

Bobbi shrugged, a new pain deep in her chest. "Now it's oddly fitting. I just wish if this was going to happen, that Isabelle could have come here and met her namesake. Izzy would have made a great aunt."

Skye gave her a sympathetic look, getting up from the bed. "Well, I'll let you get back to sleep."

"Like that's going to happen," Bobbi scoffed. "Sorry, no, yeah, you should go. Catch some Z's yourself. It's four already; I think I'll hit the gym. Pound some of this out into the punching bags."

"I feel bad for the punching bags," Skye laughed. 

Bobbi joined her, feeling a tiny release of the tension that had weighed on her for the last few hours. After Skye left she donned her workout clothes and grabbed her phone on the way out. After flexing her fingers on the way down, she decided against the punching bags after all, as they were still a bit sore after nearly getting her baton wrenched from her hand in Bruges. She made a beeline for the treadmills instead, three machines lined up in a row. The middle was occupied. 

"Agent Morse," Coulson greeted her as the mounted the one on his left and plugged in her iPhone. 

"Director," she responded respectfully. She pushed her headphones deep into her ears so they wouldn't fall out and started her playlist, setting the treadmill at its second-to-highest setting. Bobbi began running, feet pounding out her problems onto the rotating mat. The beat of the song eventually modulated her pace as she quickly fell into a smooth, practiced rhythm. Soon, though, unbidden images began to percolate into her head, and she jacked the volume up higher in a futile attempt to drown them out. Isabelle as a baby, hugged against her chest. Isabelle in Bobbi's first messy swaddling. Isabelle engulfed in Mack's large arms, at first bawling her eyes out at the unfamiliar touch but soon acclimating to his warmth. A deep-seated ache was developing in Bobbi's chest, one that she now realized had lingered there since that fateful January morning when she handed her over to the adoption agency. She'd buried it under excuses and reasons and work and other relationships, but it had never really gone away. It wasn't until now that something forced her to really  _ feel _ . 

Coulson's treadmill slowed to a stop beside her and he stepped off, done with his workout. He took a white towel from the rack and ran it over his face before letting it hang around his neck. His lips moved, but Bobbi couldn't hear him. She reached for her phone to pause the music but was going too fast and hit the wrong button, somehow opening up the photo album and ending up on a picture from four years ago. Her, sitting in that stupid old rocking chair neither she nor Hunter could ever explain why they had, the one she had nicked from the moving sale when he wasn't looking when she found out she was expecting. Isabelle was in her arms, gazing curiously at the flash from Mack's camera with a little smile on her face. 

The picture almost caused her to trip off the treadmill. 

"Sorry, what did you say?" she asked after she'd recovered her footing and managed to stop the music. 

"Just that I was finished and heading to the kitchen to start some coffee," the director replied good-naturedly.

"Oh, right," Bobbi said. "I'll take a cup when it's ready." She wasn't normally a coffee-drinker—Hunter called it sludge, and apparently even the scent annoyed him, so she'd been forced to stop. She hit the end button on the treadmill and it slowed to a halt as he walked towards the door. "Director," Bobbi called out. He turned back. "I need to discuss something with you and May."

"Can we wait until May's done with her Tai Chi? She really doesn't like being interrupted," Coulson said earnestly. 

"No, sir, it really can't wait."

  
  



	4. Permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi explains herself to May and Coulson.

"This better be good," was the exact look May was giving Coulson as the three of them piled into his office. He shut the door carefully behind him before looking to Bobbi for some form of explanation after they had all sat down.

"I need to bring my daughter here," she stated calmly. For a moment Coulson and May just stood there dumbfounded. The director's mouth was open slightly. One of May's eyebrows rose a few millimeters higher than normal. 

"Your daughter," Coulson repeated. "Did S.H.I.E.L.D. know about this? Because I checked over your file..."

"I hid my pregnancy from S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bobbi said. 

"How old is she?" questioned May.

"Four years."

"Is Hunter the father?" 

"...No," Bobbi lied automatically. It would only complicate matters worse, and the first person she planned on telling that Hunter was Isabelle's father was Hunter himself. That was a whole other can of worms. One guarded by a dragon and a moat of lava, although she wasn't quite sure why the dragon in her analogy would want to be so protective of the can of worms anyways. "But he doesn't know about her either." She explained the situation to them in as few sentences as she could, and by the end neither of them had any more questions. She had shocked them into silence. 

"Having a child here?" May said finally. "It's not a good idea, Phil. We can't be responsible for keeping track of a small child with everything else that goes on." She addressed Bobbi directly. "What happens when you go on mission?"

"I'd also like to take three weeks on inactive duty." She paused. "It's unorthodox, I know, but I don't have a choice. If there's an emergency, then of course I'll help, but... This is something I have to do."

"Your mind's made up," Coulson noted, expression unreadable. 

Bobbi nodded. "I'd also like permission to take Agent Triplett and a Quinjet to California to pick her up."

"Assuming nothing comes up between now and when you leave, permission granted," the director said. May gave him a sideways look but said nothing. "Understand, Agent Morse, that you will be responsible for Isabelle on this base," he continued. "Not only her safety but the working capacity of the Playground as well. There are areas that will be off-limits to her, and when agents are working she needs to be kept out of their way."

"I understand," Bobbi replied. 

"If not, we may have to make other arrangements including you leaving the base," Coulson warned. Bobbi nodded again. The worst part of it over, the director smiled. "Then I guess some belated congratulations are due, Agent Morse."

"Thank you, sir." Bobbi stood from her chair. "May, before we get back, could you brief the rest of the team and get this place squared away a bit? It's going to be a big change for Isabelle, and I just want the transition to be as smooth as possible."

May's gaze softened just a fraction. "Of course." The warmth was gone a moment later. "But you're taking care of Hunter."

"Actually, he has that assignment with Mack today," Bobbi said. "He won't get back until Thursday afternoon."

"By which time Isabelle will be here," May raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to give him any warning?" 

"I think it would be better to tell him...later..." Bobbi said, shifting slightly on her feet. 

May's face retook its normal stoicism. "It's your funeral."

"I've got to go call the adoption agency, see what paperwork needs to be worked out. Thank you, both of you." May gave a stiff nod and Coulson smiled again. Bobbi exited his office, closing the door softly behind her but remaining in place, listening. At first, nothing. 

Then: "I still don't think this is a good idea," May said in a low voice. 

"We'll find a way to make it work," Coulson replied. "Morse is one of our best agents—we can't afford to lose her, especially after Bruges. And we don't turn our backs on our own, especially not when there's an innocent child involved."

"I'm more concerned with how innocent that child will be after a year here," May intoned darkly. "She would be safer as far away from here as she possibly could be."

"Not necessarily," Coulson said. "Morse went into Hydra under her own identity. Now she's a traitor to their ranks. I don't want to imagine what Whitehall might do with the child of his enemy."

"Compliance will be rewarded."

"Exactly, if not subject of some inhumane experiment. I think Agent Morse is making the right decision, under the circumstances."

"Doesn't mean I like it."

"Doesn't mean any of us like it, but we do what we have to do," Coulson replied. "Now, while we wait for the rest of the team to wake up, you said you wanted to discuss our next weapons purchase...you wanted a batch of the forty-sevens?..." Bobbi stepped away from the door, marginally comforted by the director's approval but feeling a little guilty on her use of S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist espionage training on her boss: what's said behind closed doors was often more important than what was said to your face. 

Returning to her room, she pulled out her phone and found the adoption agency's number. She dialed it and began to pace as she listened to it ring. 

"Mirwood Adoption Agency, Laura speaking, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Barbara Morse, calling about my daughter Isabelle," Bobbi said. "Could I speak to Delilah please?"

"Of course, one moment, Ms. Morse," the cheerful voice replied back. There was a click and a soft melody began to play. It wasn't more than a minute before the line crackled again and Delilah was back on. 

"Thanks for waiting. Have you come to a decision regarding Isabelle?"

"I'd like to adopt her," Bobbi said, each word feeling foreign in her mouth. For a moment after she said it adrenaline surged through her body as the full impact of her words coursed through her, but she managed to tamp down her sudden-onset anxiety with a few deep breaths. She knew what she was doing. She did. 

"That's great news, Ms. Morse," Delilah replied. "I'll have the necessary papers drawn up at once, but I'll need your adoption ID number off the original custody papers and the last four digits of your Social Security number before I can disclose any more information over the phone." Bobbi went to her dresser and pulled open the middle drawer, sweeping her T-shirts and shorts aside to access the false bottom underneath. She moved the cloth-wrapped handgun from atop the stack of papers and began sifting through them quickly. About halfway through the neat pile she came up with the adoption forms from four years ago. 

"Yes, I have it right here: 5367-57890," Bobbi read off. "Social Security 6721."

"Thank you," Delilah said. "There will be a lot of paperwork to go through before you can take her, but you're lucky that you opted for an open adoption in the beginning, or this wouldn't be possible. When will you be able to come by the agency and pick her up? The earliest we can do is today at five o'clock or tomorrow at three." 

"Tomorrow sounds fine," Bobbi said, calculating in her head. "I'm flying in from New York."

"All right then, I'll book you for then."

"What...what can you tell me about her?" Bobbi asked haltingly. It was amazing how hard her heart was pounding in her chest as she waited for the answer. She hadn't been able to ask that question for four years, and it wasn't that she hadn't wondered. 

"Well, as I said before, her adoptive parents returned her to us early yesterday morning. She's been staying in our small children's unit, which usually has a one night limit but I think we can bend that rule this once since you're flying in from out of state. As for Isabelle herself...she's shy, but that's to be expected with all the confusion in her life right now. She's well-behaved as far as I've seen, but her parents told me she could be quite mischievous at times." Ahem, Hunter's genes. "She's a beautiful, healthy four-year-old, really," Delilah assured her. "You'll find out the rest when you meet her."

"Thank you," Bobbi said. "I can't wait." Well, that last part was partly true. The thought terrified her beyond belief, electrifying like a thousand tiny bee stings whenever she thought about it. But nor was the thought of not meeting the little girl her baby had become palatable either. She had strongly mixed feelings, and Bobbi didn't like mixed feelings. Black and white was more her style when it came to her own mind. The sooner she could reunite with Isabelle and get past this hump of paralyzing uncertainty, the sooner she could get back to being the collected, in-control S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she was trained to be. 

"All right, you'll just need to bring..." Delilah listed off a mountain of paperwork, identification, and other such materials so long that halfway through Bobbi had to reach for a piece of paper and pencil. 

"Thank you, see you then," Bobbi ended the call. She turned to see her room door open and Mack step inside. 

"Hunter and I are just about to leave, but I wanted to check in with you first," he said. "Told Hunter I was checking the fuel reserves. Have you decided?"

"I'm going to be a mother," Bobbi said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face as she said the words aloud. 

Mack nodded his approval, holding out his arms. They embraced. "You were always a mother, Barbara. You never stopped caring."


	5. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi is reunited with her little girl.

Co-opting Agent Triplett for this mission had been easy enough. No sooner had she walked up to him and asked, "How would you like to help me fly to southern California?" than he had done pre-flight checks on the Quinjet and prepped it to go. Even after she'd told him they were going to pick up her daughter, all he'd done was dig up some mini apple sauce containers and goldfish from the pantry. 

"No kid'll say no to apple sauce and goldfish," he explained with a wink. 

So now she was here, halfway across America on a Quinjet stocked with supposed children's foods and sitting in the passenger side of the cockpit as Trip flew. He didn't say anything, which she was glad of—there were all too many thoughts whirling around her head to be able to cope with another set of ideas or questions. That was one of the things she liked about Agent Triplett from the beginning—he was friendly but didn't ask too many questions. Loyal and easy-going, but not nosy. He looked at you and made his judgments, regardless of your file or the rumors. It was a refreshing difference from most S.H.I.E.L.D. field agents, who took a more "holistic" approach to getting to know you. Like his World War II-era Howling Commando gadgets, Trip was old school. 

Bobbi's foot drummed impatiently against the front wall of the Quinjet. Every couple minutes the reason she was here washed over her again, setting her heart pounding. She had the three ultrasound print-outs tucked in her wallet, as well as the few photos Mack had taken of them together before Bobbi gave her up. When she’d requested them, the adoptive parents had sent her pictures as well over the years—a scant total of two—but they were carefully placed in there too. The later of the two had been taken on Isabelle's third birthday, and it was the most recent Bobbi had of her: a golden-haired toddler bedecked in a red poufy dress standing in front of a decorated Christmas tree. It was a fantasy Bobbi had never allowed herself before, but if she concentrated hard enough she could pretend that the bits of cream-colored wall visible through the branches were the cream-colored wall of the little house on the beach she and Hunter had owned. That the Christmas tree was theirs, lovingly decorated for the season, that the dress was one Bobbi herself had helped Isabelle pick out. That the person holding the camera that Isabelle was currently staring at with adoration was her. 

Previously, that kind of thinking hadn't been allowed. It hadn't been fair for the adoptive parents. It hadn't been fair to Isabelle. And it hadn't been healthy for Bobbi. But now... Now everything was different. 

_ She was about to meet her daughter.  _

Bobbi checked her phone and leaned forward in the cockpit to gaze at the ground in front of them. "That's Colorado down below," Triplett supplied helpfully with a sideways glance at her. It was all cloud cover, but Bobbi nodded, settling back in her seat again. Two hours to go. 

_ She was about to meet her daughter.  _

Unable to sit still any longer, Bobbi unstrapped her seat belt and headed for the rear of the plane. She began to pace. It was against regulation, she knew—walking around for no reason while in the air—but she couldn't bring herself to care. She stopped suddenly and pulled out the pictures, flipping through them. Then she stuffed them back in her wallet and continued pacing. 

_ She was about to meet her daughter.  _

"Passing over Yosemite now," Trip said about an hour and a half later. "We're close. You wanna call Chaev and let her know we'll be arriving soon?" 

"On it," Bobbi said, returning to the cockpit and fitting the giant headphones over her ears. Though she'd been anxious to get to their destination, now that it was looming right in front of her she wished there were a few more hours to this flight to prepare. She wasn't ready for this. Not even close. 

"This is Morse in S.H.I.E.L.D. 218," Bobbi said, holding down the microphone button. 

"Received transmission, S.H.I.E.L.D. 218," the woman on the other side said. "Secure line established, over."

"We'll be touching down at the Fishtank in about ten minutes, over," Bobbi advised. 

"Confirmed, Agent Morse. See you soon."

Bobbi took off the headphones and situated them on the dash. "All set," she informed Triplett. 

"Good, because we hit a tailwind and will be arriving sooner than I thought," Trip told her. He tilted the controls forward and flipped the rightmost switches, starting their descent. "Landings like these near a large metropolitan area I always wonder whether the cloaking system is actually working, 'cause you can't tell from in here."

"I'm sure it is," Bobbi said, glancing at the ceiling. "Mack and Fitz keep this thing in pretty good repair. Especially since the only two things they're allowed to work on are this and the Bus, since Coulson still won't let him touch Lola."

The Quinjet's landing extensions rumbled as they hit the ground, but a few seconds later the plane came to a full and complete stop and Triplett took off his headset. At the touch of a button the ramp out the back opened and sunlight filtered in. Trip nodded to her. "I'll be here. Go get her." He gave Bobbi a reassuring smile. 

"Thank you," she said, picking up her briefcase and walking outside. Agent Chaev, the young woman in charge of the Fishtank—Coulson's satellite base for the west coast—was waiting for her just beyond the ramp. 

"Hey, Bobbi," she greeted her. "Good to see you. Coulson didn't specify in his orders exactly what this was about, but can we offer you any backup, support, evac?"

"Not an op, Aleksandra," Bobbi replied. "Personal." 

Chaev nodded. "Fair enough. I'll have Avery refuel the Quinjet while you're gone, and I'll make sure no one is out here when you get back, as you requested. The taxi's waiting out front." She led her through the small facility out onto the main road and to the yellow cab parked next to the sidewalk. "Good luck with whatever it is, Bobbi."

"Thanks," she replied, opening the door and climbing inside the back seat. "The 5100 block of Thirty-Fifth Street."

The cabbie glanced at her through the rear view mirror and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. Agent Jack Walker, by the way."

"So this isn't a real cab."

"Used to be, before we refitted it for our purposes. Large black vans were a little conspicuous in the city, but this blends in just fine. When we did the refurbishing, I wanted to put in disco lights on the ceiling like Cash Cab, but Chaev vetoed that."

"I'll bet she did," Bobbi laughed nervously. 

"Right, Thirty-Fifth Street," Walker said, pulling away from the curb. He said nothing more as he navigated the semi-congested city streets before finally pulling up next to her final destination. The time to turn the doorknob of the adoption agency and step inside came all too soon for Bobbi. 

The lobby was smaller than she remembered it. The same set of chairs lined one wall and the same closed door lead to the rest of the facility, but she didn't remember it taking so few steps to reach the front desk. "Hi, I'm here for a three o'clock appointment," Bobbi said to the receptionist. 

"Name?"

"Barbara Morse." 

The secretary consulted her computer. "Ah, you're right here. Delilah will be out in just a moment, if you'd like to take a seat."

Bobbi did so. 

"Ms. Morse?" the door opened. The woman Bobbi recognized as Delilah—the woman she had handed her baby over to four years ago—came into the room. She invited Bobbi into the back, and they both took seats in her office. "Well, I'm sure you're anxious to take her home, so let's get started," the woman said. She withdrew an official-looking document from a large packet on her desk and slid it across to Bobbi. "You'll have to sign here, here, and here." After reading it over quickly, Bobbi took the pen and scribbled her name on each of the indicated lines. "And this one." Next she had to fill out information on finances, living arrangements, safety, education plans...more than half of which she had to lie on in order to maintain her cover story. Just when Bobbi thought it would never end, it did. 

"Okay, so, that's it for the paperwork," Delilah smiled. "In two weeks the agency will check back in with you, make sure everything's going all right."

"Okay," Bobbi agreed. 

"Great. Then, I think we're ready," Delilah's smile widened. "Follow me, I'll take you to her."

The hallway was lined with other offices for a short while before opening up into a more open area. On either side were some bookshelves with volumes ranging from picture books to young adult romance novels, and there were various toys strewn across the floor: Legos, large building blocks, a doll house. Around six or seven children of a range of ages were playing with them, and there was an older girl in the corner engrossed in a book. What looked to be teenage volunteers were entertaining two of the smaller ones with an impromptu puppet show. Bobbi looked around eagerly at each of the kids, but none seemed to have the golden hair present in her photograph. 

"Group B is still in their rooms, so she's not here," Delilah explained. "I'll go fetch her and her things, if you'll just wait here." Bobbi nodded, and the woman disappeared behind a large gray door. 

A little boy streaked by her feet, a blur of red T-shirt and ratty blue jeans. One of the volunteers chased after him, reminding him that running was an outdoor activity, not an indoor one, and mumbled a hurried apology to Bobbi as she passed. The girl in the corner with the book looked up at the commotion, her mouth a taut line and her eyes much too guarded for her years. Bobbi wondered idly if she was looking at a younger version of Skye. 

The door opened suddenly and Bobbi jumped. Another volunteer came out with a one-year-old baby in her arms and Bobbi's acute adrenaline rush subsided, lingering only in the tingling sensation of her fingers. She forced herself to relax again, noticing the girl in the corner giving her a hard, unabashed stare. 

The door opened again and this time Delilah appeared on the other side. One hand lugged a small black suitcase and the other was placed gently on the back of a small girl. 

Bobbi's heart leapt in her chest. 

The girl kept her eyes directed toward the floor. Her shoulder-length golden hair was just a shade lighter than Bobbi's, and it was currently slightly matted such that it looked like no one had run a brush through it in several mornings. She trudged forward in semi-white sneakers—not unwillingly, just unsure—and kept her chin tucked close to her chest. For a moment it felt like Bobbi couldn't breathe. "Isabelle, this is Barbara," Delilah said, releasing the blockage suddenly in Bobbi's airways. "She's going to take you home."

"Hi Isabelle, I'm Bobbi," Bobbi said gently, kneeling in front of her daughter. The girl lifted her chin slightly and at once Bobbi was struck with the impression of her own blue eyes staring back at her. 

"Hi," Isabelle said softly. Bobbi offered her her hand and the girl glanced upwards at Delilah. Delilah nodded to her, kindness in her gaze.

Isabelle's small hand slipped into hers.


	6. Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi takes Isabelle home to meet the team.

As soon as the small fingers came into contact with hers, a huge smile split Bobbi's face. It felt so right, having that little hand in hers. 

"Thank you," she said again to Delilah, taking Isabelle's suitcase from the woman. She lifted it easily with one hand—there couldn't have been much more than clothes inside. The woman motioned for her to wait and returned a few seconds later with a plastic car seat, which Bobbi accepted gratefully. Was it a bad thing the thought of car safety for a child hadn't even crossed her mind? 

Carrying the car seat awkwardly under one arm, she gently led Isabelle out of the facility and into the sunlight. As they approached the taxi Bobbi mentally thanked Chaev for providing the transportation through S.H.I.E.L.D. and not through an actual taxi service, as Bobbi had originally assumed. She opened the door closest to the sidewalk and positioned the car seat. Slipping the straps of the miniature backpack off Isabelle's shoulders, Bobbi made to drop it over the seat into the trunk but the girl's arm shot out to stop her. Bobbi stopped bewilderedly, then placed it in the corner of the foot space instead. That seemed to be acceptable. She helped Isabelle inside, well aware of the way the girl's eyes were darting around the city block but dreadfully unsure how to calm the anxiety she must be feeling. Bobbi shut the door behind her, put the suitcase in the trunk, and went around the other side to get in. She fastened her seatbelt before turning to Isabelle, but to her surprise her daughter's was already done as well. 

"Good job with the seatbelt," Bobbi praised her awkwardly. The girl didn't smile, just looked back at her with large blue eyes. Isabelle jumped slightly as Agent Walker pulled away from the curb before settling back in her seat again and staring into her lap. 

"Is there something you wanted in your backpack?" Bobbi tried haltingly, in a voice for some reason a few notes higher than normal. "You can get it if you want." 

Indecision held the girl still for a moment, and then she slowly reached down to pull the backpack toward her and onto her lap. She unzipped it and the previously-squished head of a stuffed rabbit popped out. Isabelle pulled the plush bunny from the backpack and dropped it onto the floor again, hugging the rabbit to her chest. 

The sight made Bobbi smile. "I like your bunny," she said kindly. "Does he have a name?"

"His name is Hoppity," Isabelle mumbled, voice muffled by synthetic fur and stuffing. Bobbi paused, unsure of what to say after that, and glanced up to see Agent Walker watching her amusedly in the rear view mirror. 

"That's a cool name," Bobbi told her. The traffic seemed to have died down while she was inside the adoption agency, and she was somewhat relieved to see the Fishtank base coming up ahead. The cab stopped on the curb where it had first picked her up, and Bobbi unbuckled. "Have you ever flown before?" she asked. After a moment the girl shook her head mutely. Bobbi opened the door for her and picked up their stuff from the trunk. "Well, it's perfectly safe, I promise. There's no reason to be scared. But if you are—" She helped Isabelle out of the taxi. "—just tell me, okay?" Bobbi took her hand again, and together they walked back to the Quinjet. Isabelle stared up at the odd-looking plane curiously, and Bobbi took that as a good sign. Four-year-olds were supposed to be curious, right?

Bobbi kept her hand clasped lightly around Isabelle’s as they mounted the ramp into the darker interior of the jet. Triplett swiveled around in his chair, smiling broadly as he beheld Isabelle for the first time. Despite his friendly grin, the girl stopped dead at the sight of him. “Isabelle, this is Trip. He’s my friend, and our pilot. He’s going to fly this ship, and he’s really good at it.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Triplett greeted her, giving a wave from the cockpit. The girl didn’t move. 

“You okay?” Bobbi asked, kneeling to get down on Isabelle’s level again. She nodded slowly. “Good,” Bobbi smiled. She stowed the suitcase in the corner and guided Isabelle into one of the seats. She lifted the tangle of black straps from the edge of the chair. “I’m going to put this over you, okay? It’s a kind of special seatbelt, made for planes.”

“Maybe you should put yours on first, to show her,” Trip suggested from up front. She thanked him with a glance and sat down in the seat next to her daughter, pulling the straps over her head and clipping them in. 

“See?” Bobbi said gently. She lifted Isabelle’s over the girl’s head and settled it on her chest before tightening them for the girl’s smaller size. “Just like that.”

“Starting her up,” Trip reported, flipping the necessary switches. “Take off in fifteen...fourteen...”

“We’re going up in their air now,” Bobbi informed her daughter. She placed her arm on the small armrest between them, palm open. “If you get scared, how about you just squeeze my hand? If you don’t want to talk?” Isabelle circled her arms around Hoppity again, hugging him tightly. The poor rabbit looked like he was in a headlock, Bobbi thought privately, but whatever worked for her. 

Bobbi was all too aware of Isabelle’s preternatural stillness as the Quinjet leveled off at altitude. Her eyes darted around the plane, taking in the other row of seats, the red medical kit stashed under the emergency parachute supply, and the fluffy clouds out the cockpit window. Hoppity was only squeezed harder. The silence despite the quiet roar of the Quinjet beneath them was stifling, twisting Bobbi’s stomach in knots. Speaking of stomachs…

“Are you hungry?” she asked Isabelle, producing a bag of Goldfish and a cup of applesauce complete with a spoon from under her seat. She pulled the bag open and offered them to Isabelle. After a moment’s indecision, the girl took them, putting one in her mouth and chewing slowly. As if her hunger took over, the other three fish Bobbi had handed her were gone in a matter of seconds. 

Smiling, Bobbi relinquished the bag to her and peeled the top off the cup of applesauce. Isabelle attacked it eagerly with a spoon. Before Bobbi knew it the fruit was finished and the crackers done with, and Isabelle had resumed her unnatural stillness. Tiny worms of guilt wriggled in her heart—she knew Isabelle was scared, but not how to comfort her. It made Bobbi uncomfortable to continue watching—no, staring—at the girl, so she looked away and out the window at the front of the Quinjet. When she glanced back a few minutes later, Isabelle was asleep.

Bobbi scooted forward in her seat, carefully unclipping her seatbelt and lifting the contraption up and over her head. She joined Trip in the cockpit, sinking down uneasily into the seat next to him. “She fell asleep.”

Triplett nodded, eyes on the sky in front of them. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not?” Bobbi asked. “I would think she’d be unable to sleep, with strangers in a foreign environment. I’d be terrified out of my mind.”

“Sleeping’s like a defense mechanism for kids,” Trip replied. “Their subconscious way of dealing with things. My aunt adopted a kid once—five, so a little older than Isabelle—and for the first week she had him the kid slept eighteen hours a night. Plus, four-year-olds still take naps.”

“They do?” Bobbi asked. She sighed. “You sound like you know way more about all of this than me.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Trip assured her. “It’s always weird the first few days. It’ll get better.” She thanked him for his optimism with a tight smile, wishing she could be sure of that in her heart. Would all of this have been easier if she’d kept Isabelle in the first place? If she had help from—? No, she wasn't even going to think about him right now.

Over the course of the rest of the five-hour flight Bobbi checked on Isabelle over her shoulder but stayed up front with Trip’s easy companionship. The girl remained asleep for the duration of the trip—even through the slight bit of turbulence they hit over Ohio—although her death grip on Hoppity gradually relaxed. On Trip's suggestion Bobbi let her sleep through the landing, but upon their touchdown in the garage Bobbi gathered up their stuff and approached Isabelle. 

She placed a tentative hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Isabelle? Hey, it’s time to wake up,” she said softly. The corners of the girl’s lips rose slightly—the ghost of a smile, the first Bobbi had ever seen on her in person. Joy flooded Bobbi’s body. 

Isabelle’s eyes cracked open and the smile abruptly disappeared as she realized where she was. The sight hit Bobbi like an icy smack across the face, but she forced a smile anyway and unstrapped her daughter, handing her the mini backpack and offering her her hand. Isabelle took it, standing up and directing her curious gaze out the ramp. Bobbi turned and led her down it and outside, to the ground floor of the garage. 

She wasn't quite sure what to expect as she held the door to the main facility open for Isabelle, Trip following a few paces behind. She had asked May to inform the team and "get the place squared away a bit" but she had no idea what that might mean in actual practice. Presumably nothing dangerous would be left lying around, but beyond that…

Bobbi stopped suddenly as they entered the next room, caught by the large smiles of the team gazing back at her. Each of them—May, Coulson, Skye, Fitz, and Simmons—stood in a line, the younger agents positively glowing at the sight of them. May’s expression was more guarded than the rest, but she too seemed to be putting on her friendliest face for the upcoming introductions. 

Isabelle stiffened beside her, the grip on Bobbi’s hand becoming vice-like at the appearance of so many unfamiliar people. Mixed emotions raced through Bobbi as Isabelle took a step closer to her leg, partially shielding herself from the team’s happy faces. One, Isabelle was stepping closer to  _ her  _ for comfort. Two, the number of unknown people in this room was starting to freak her out. 

“Hey,” Bobbi greeted them. “I guess I’d like you to meet Isabelle.” 

May nodded stiffly, addressing her daughter. "It's nice to meet you. I’m May."

Coulson stepped forward, eyes on Isabelle. He smiled kindly, kneeling to get on the girl's level. "You can call me Phil." 

Isabelle peeked out at him from behind Bobbi's leg. "Phil," she repeated softly, locking her gaze with his for a moment before ducking away again. Coulson smiled, retreating back to May's side. The specialist leaned close to him, murmuring something unintelligible in his ear. “No, as long as Morse keeps her away from my collectables,” he replied softly. Bobbi caught his eye and nodded, barely able to keep from laughing. In the presence of the team—no, her team—her fears about being a mother were gradually being put at bay. Not gone, but not brutally oppressive as they had been since she'd received that fateful phone call. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s recruiting younger now, I see,” Skye joked, squatting down next to Isabelle. Coulson and May fell silent and Bobbi’s smile faltered. The hacker looked around. “Tough crowd.” Her SO shot her a warning glance and Skye, chastised, turned back to Isabelle. “Hi, I’m Skye. Do you like Disney?” she asked, absolutely friendly and seeming completely comfortable in the girl’s presence. Isabelle hesitated before nodding profusely. “We are going to have so much fun together,” Skye laughed before standing and retaking her spot next to Coulson. The tensions in the room returned to normal.

FitzSimmons went next, with the biochemist mimicking Coulson's position and the quirky engineer just leaning down. "Hey there, Isabelle!" Simmons chirped. "I'm Jemma, and this is Leo. We're very happy to have you here!" She looked at Bobbi, smiling enthusiastically. “She’s so precious; she looks just like you! ...Although the structure of her face is a bit different; is there some Polish in your family? Some English?”

“Both,” Bobbi said quickly, before the overly-excited scientist could go on any further. She was encroaching on dangerous territory, there. Did Isabelle even know that she was with her birth mother now? How did you go about telling a child something like that, considering the only mother she can remember is the one from whom she was just taken away?

That train of thought was shunted aside as Fitz pulled something fluffy from behind his back. "Th—This is for you," he said with only a minor stutter, producing a stuffed animal around Hoppity's size but with more legs and holding it out to her. "It's a monkey, see? Because monkeys are the greatest." Bobbi realized with amusement the fifth leg she'd been confused about was actually a tail. 

Isabelle accepted the monkey with the arm not already filled with stuffed animal, releasing her death grip on Bobbi's hand. She smiled, looking down at her new toy. "Thor!”

Everyone blinked. “You want to name the monkey ‘Thor’?” Skye asked.

“Yes!”

“Umm...I think Thor’s already taken,” Skye said uncertainly. 

“Thor,” Isabelle insisted, hugging the monkey to her chest. 

“Okay then,” Skye chortled, and one by one the team began to laugh. Even May cracked one of her rare smiles. 

Then scuffling sounds came were audible from the garage behind them, along with the sound of slamming car doors. Mack's low voice met Bobbi’s ears.  _ "Shit. No, wait, Hun—"  _

Hunter burst through the door. "Who missed me? Hold on, let me rephrase that _ — _ we come bearing pizza! Now who missed m—" He broke off as he spotted all of them staring at him. Fitz and Simmons rose to their feet slowly, no one daring to say a word. Mack appeared behind him, out of breath and frustrated with this predicament they’d tried to avoid. Predicament. That was one word for it. 

Nobody moved as Hunter's brow furrowed, eyes roaming first from the silent team to Bobbi's deer-in-the-headlights expression and then down to Isabelle's small, bewildered face. The girl stared at the newcomers with wide blue eyes. He seemed to make the connection a moment later. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!"


	7. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle cries, and Bobbi and Hunter have a long-due conversation.

Bobbi’s expression immediately hardened at his outburst, all sympathy and guilt she felt toward him dissipating in an instant. "Hunter!" she snarled in warning. Beside her, Isabelle bit her lip, eyes threatening to fill with tears. Bobbi looked down at her daughter, putting a hand on her back and gently leading her out of the room as the team looked on in a shocked silence. The glare she shot over her shoulder at her idiot of an ex-husband could have melted metal. 

"Does anyone else get the feeling that Hunter's the fa..." Simmons whispered to Skye behind them. Bobbi’s jaw clenched; this was not how she had imagined this all going down. Of course, as a specialist, she considered all the possibilities, but...she’d really been hoping to avoid this particular scenario altogether. Luckily, no one but Skye and Simmons seemed to be privy to their little side conversation. 

Isabelle clutched both Hoppity and Thor tightly as Bobbi turned them around a corner into the residential area. "It's okay," Bobbi assured her blindly. 

"Why doesn't he like me?" Isabelle asked, a waver in her voice. 

"He was just surprised to see you, Isabelle," Bobbi told her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” They reached the door to Bobbi’s room and she let them in, stopping short suddenly at the sight of another, smaller bed a few feet away from hers in the far right corner. It was done up with floral pink sheets instead of the standard navy blue ones and Bobbi wondered idly who she would have to thank for the shopping trip later. She guided Isabelle to the bed.

There was a light knock on the door and Bobbi crossed over to it, opening it to find Isabelle’s suitcase right outside and Fitz’s retreating back. Lurking a few feet away was Hunter, storm clouds brewing in his dark brown eyes. He looked at her, she looked at him, and neither of them said anything as she pulled the suitcase inside and closed the door. Hunter would have to wait. 

Bobbi placed the suitcase at the foot of Isabelle’s bed and then took a seat next to her daughter. As she did so, she was alarmed to see the streaks of silent tears beginning to make their way down the four-year-old’s face. “Hey,” she said gently. She tentatively placed her hand on her daughter’s back and, when she didn’t shy away, looped her arm around her small shoulders. “Hey, don’t let Hunter make you cry. It’s okay, really.” Isabelle’s crying only worsened, with soft, quiet sobs emanating from the girl. Bobbi pulled her closer, hugging her into her side and beginning to stroke her hair with her other hand. After a few minutes the sniffles had stopped, but tears still coursed down Isabelle’s face. 

“I don’t care about Hunter,” the girl said finally, voice muffled by Bobbi’s shirt. That stopped Bobbi in her tracks for a moment. It was her insensitive idiot of an ex-husband who had set her off—but that wasn’t what Isabelle was upset about?

“Okay then, what’s wrong?” Bobbi asked. “You can tell me anything, I promise.”

“I want to go home.” The words cut into her life a knife, freezing her insides solid. 

“Isabelle...I’m sorry, you can’t. It doesn’t work that way,” Bobbi said. “This has to be your new home now.”

Her daughter’s hands fisted and she pulled away from Bobbi’s embrace, indignation and hurt present in her blue eyes. “Please let me go home. I don’t like it here. I want to go home to my real mommy and daddy.” 

“You can’t do that.” Isabelle’s arms crossed defiantly. “I’m sorry.”

“I want to go home.” It was then Bobbi realized a dam had broken inside her daughter, one built when she’d first been taken away from her family a few days ago that had persisted until now. Hunter had broken it, and now every fear, insecurity, and other negative emotion the child had was pouring out. Until now, she’d been putting on a brave face—keeping a stiff upper lip until she couldn’t hold it all in anymore.

"I know," Bobbi tried to say, but her daughter crawled away from her, climbing to the head of the bed and pulling the covers over herself. 

“I don’t like it here,” she insisted, tugging them up to her chin. “I don’t wanna stay.” Her eyes darted around the dark gray walls of the windowless room before fixing them again on Bobbi. 

“Go to sleep,” Bobbi murmured. The girl’s eyes were already fluttering, obviously worn out by her emotional outburst. “Maybe it’ll look better in the morning.” She ghosted one hand over her daughter’s forehead. 

“You’re not my real mommy,” Isabelle said, eyes slipping closed for the final time. Bobbi got up from the bed, hands fisted in her own hair. Deep, shuddering breaths didn’t provide enough oxygen, and as hard as she tried to blink them away there were tears present in her own eyes. She knew Isabelle didn’t mean to be—didn’t even know she was being—cruel, but that knowledge only twisted Bobbi’s gut further, caused the trembling in her hands and the aching in her heart. It would have been easier if the words had been meant to her, had been the girl lashing out about a difficult situation… This was worse. It was honesty. 

And now on top of it she had Hunter to deal with. 

Bobbi glanced back at the sleeping girl and hesitated before pulling out her phone and fetching a second one—the one she had used while undercover as a HYDRA enforcer—from the dresser. She typed in her own number into the HYDRA version and called herself, answering on the other before the loud ringing could even start. She placed both on speaker, setting the HYDRA one on the nightstand in between their two beds and putting the other, muted, in her pocket. 

She exited the room and closed the door behind her. Hunter was leaning up against the wall in the exact same position he’d been in thirty minutes ago, never a good sign. He was usually antsier than that. “Who is she, Bob?”

“Her name’s Isabelle,” she replied. Recognition flashed through Hunter’s intent expression before he shut it down again.

“Who  _ is _ she, Bob?”

Bobbi bit the inside of her lip hard enough to make it bleed, creating the familiar metallic taste in her mouth that was normally the product of a punch to the jaw. Right now, given the choice between this and the punch...she’d take the punch, no contest. “She’s your daughter, Hunter.”

“No, she’s not.” Confused by his statement, said with such surety, her eyebrows furrowed. “If I had a daughter,” Hunter continued in that same confident tone, “I’m pretty sure I would know about her. I haven’t slept with any woman even  _ remotely  _ heartless enough to keep the existence of my own child from me.”

“Hunter…”

“You’re being serious, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and he pressed his hand to his forehead, swearing violently. “I have a daught—how could you fucking keep this from me, Bobbi?”

“How could I keep this from you?” Bobbi exploded. “Do you remember how our marriage ended?!”

"I remember signing divorce papers, not you showing me a bloody pregnancy stick!"

"Well, you know what I remember? I remember us constantly screaming at each other! I remember you leaving for days at a time! I remember coming home to find you drunk and sitting in front of the—"

"Only 'cause it was the only reasonable way to deal with being married to you!" Hunter shot back. "I wasn't the one leaving for days at a time first, Bob. That was  _ all _ you."

"Yeah, for my  _ work _ !" Bobbi shouted back. "Oh, and S.H.I.E.L.D., too—you could never stop pestering me about where I went and who I was with. I bet you still don't know the meaning of ‘classified’!"

"At least I wasn't keeping huge secrets like you always were! It was always more about you protecting S.H.I.E.L.D.'s precious secrets than me. And not just the small things, Bob—this is a pretty damn big thing! If  _ I'd _ had your baby growing inside  _ me _ —"

"You can't have a baby," Bobbi interrupted with a scoff. 

"Fine, if I had gotten a...a  _ dog _ , I sure as hell would have told you about it!"

" _ Are you comparing our daughter to a dog? _ "

"No!" Hunter screwed up his face, glaring at her. "I just—I can't even deal with you, with this, right now, Bob."

"Oh, right, that sounds like you," Bobbi spat. "First sign of something needing commitment and you go running off! Always have one foot out the door, don’t you, Hunter?"

“Since when is this about me?” Hunter yelled. “This is about you operating S.H.I.E.L.D. methods when you should have had our best interests in mind. Ours!”

“What about Isabelle’s?” Bobbi demanded. “Because that’s what I did, Hunter, and that’s what you can’t see, can’t accept. We were a  _ wreck _ —dysfunctional, broken, shattered to pieces—long before I found out about Isabelle. We were never stable enough to raise a child! So I did the right thing—I sent her as far away from our toxic relationship as possible!”

“Pieces can be picked up,” he growled. “Didn’t you think a child—our child—would have made a difference? That maybe we could be adults for three seconds and raise her?”

“It wasn’t her job to make a difference! Our problems were ours; I wasn’t about to thrust them onto an innocent child. Technically, we were divorced anyways by the time I found out. I didn’t even know where you were; last I’d seen you you were packing that stupid jalopy with a six-pack out of the fridge and driving off down I-5 toward god-knows-where in Mexico. I did what I thought was best. And if I had told you, you wouldn’t have been able to let her go.”

“No, I sure as hell wouldn’t have!”

“Because you still don’t get it.”

“I get it just fine,” Hunter spat. “I get it: you acted like a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and took care of the problem. Swept it under the rug first chance you got.” She fumed at him, fury in her eyes, but he pressed onward. “You don’t seem to understand what you took from me, Bob. Four years. Four years of her life!”

“You say that like I kept them all for myself,” Bobbi shouted back. “I didn’t. Obviously I didn’t get to spend those four years with her either.”

“No, you just resumed life like normal,” Hunter hissed. “You were never acting in anyone’s best interests but yours, Bob. So you could be Fury's perfect little agent again. Not our family’s, not Isabelle’s. Look where she ended up! Not with a happy family of her own, but alone and scared back in this circus." He took a step forward, getting in her face. "You screwed this up, Bob. You." Hunter stopped, venom in his gaze. He opened his mouth again as if to say something, then promptly shut it again and stormed out of the room. 

Bobbi took a half step forward and halted, running one hand through her hair as she tried to calm her pounding heart. Hunter was being stubborn and stupid as usual, but he wasn't entirely off point. Everything he said that hadn't been a blatant insult, as much as she hated to admit it, had been true. "Damn it, Hunter," she whispered, staring after him. She really didn't need a furious ex-husband to deal with while trying to work through everything with Isabelle. At the beginning of the argument she'd been planning to offer to introduce them properly, but now... Now it appeared he'd rather storm off and gnaw on his anger than meet Isabelle. 

And after all that, that was perfectly fine with Bobbi. 

She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked down at it, checking that her little makeshift baby monitor was still active. Peeking into her room, she saw that Isabelle was still fast asleep, so Bobbi decided that the best thing for her to do right now might be a good throwdown in the gym. It would help clear her head, and all she had to do was find a partner who wouldn't ask too many questions—just fight. 

Bobbi had the perfect candidate in mind. 

Walking quickly, Bobbi made a beeline for the gym. “Morse,” someone said as she nearly flew by their door, and she turned around to see Coulson poking his head out of his office. 

“Director,” she nodded, itching to leave but unable to do so. “Do you need something?”

“Could you come here for a minute?” Coulson asked, gesturing her inside. She had no choice but to follow him. The director shut the door behind them—never a good sign, as if she needed any more signs to tell her she wasn’t going to enjoy the upcoming conversation. There seemed to be bad signs popping up all over the place today. 

Coulson walked to the center of the room, putting his hands together as if he wasn’t exactly sure how best to put his thoughts into words. “We need to talk,” he began. 

Bobbi just waited. 

“Since yesterday, when you told us that Hunter isn’t the father, I have to admit I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure out who else it could be,” said Coulson, “and the only person I could come up with was Clint Barton. I’ve known you for a while, Agent Morse, in person but especially by reputation. You don’t exactly walk around S.H.I.E.L.D. blending in. It was big news down the grapevine when you and Barton were discovered as being a couple.” He sighed. “The reason I’m telling you this is that I don’t think Isabelle is something you should be keeping from him. He deserves to know.”

“You think Isabelle’s father is Clint?” Bobbi asked, incredulity laced in her voice. The idea was so ludicrous that she couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not Clint.” She sobered quickly. “I lied. Hunter is the father.” Her confession was monotone, leaving no room for doubt.

Coulson blinked. “Why would you lie to us, Morse?”

“Because I wanted to tell him first, which worked out oh-so-well just a few minutes ago.”

Sympathy entered Coulson's gaze, and whatever words he was about to use to tell her off over the subterfuge—he was Director, after all—died away. The moment of silence was abruptly broken as his laptop pinged on his desk. He frowned, rotating it toward him and lifting the lid. "You must have upset him a lot," Coulson said, turning it toward her. "He's leaving the base." The screen showed Hunter walking through the door to the garage before switching security cameras to show her ex starting the ignition of his personal car and driving out into the night. 

"Figures," Bobbi muttered. "Probably gone to a bar or something. He'll be back, I'm sure. He always is."

"He's done this before?" the director questioned. 

"Did I not mention he was a flight risk when I gave you his name for recruitment?" Bobbi sighed. "I would guess two or three days at the most, half a day at the least. It would surprise me if he showed up at breakfast tomorrow morning, but it's not outside the realm of possibility. This was...this was a pretty big bomb I dropped on him," she admitted. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t a big fan of the man when you and Hartley first brought him on board,” Coulson said. “But he’s proven to be rather useful, and not at all as aggravating as you made him out to be in your initial report.”

“I may have been somewhat biased.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Coulson’s mouth. “He’s become an integral part of this team over the last few months, and I would hate to lose another agent. Are you absolutely certain he’ll come back? As you said...this isn’t some small marital skirmish.”

“Positive,” Bobbi told him. “With him gone, things would be simpler. If there’s one thing you can always count on Hunter to do, it’s make things complicated again.”


	8. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and the rest of the team get used to this new dynamic in their lives.

“May!” Bobbi called out in front of her, halting the specialist in her tracks. She caught up quickly, noting that the normally cold S.H.I.E.L.D. agent seemed even more closed off than usual.

“Yes?” May asked as Bobbi fell into step beside her.

“I was wondering if you wanted to meet me on the mat,” Bobbi requested.

“Gym. Ten minutes.” The woman walked off, heading in the opposite direction. Bobbi returned to her room, changing swiftly out of her more formal clothing into something workout-worthy. Isabelle was still sound asleep in her bed, and Bobbi stood over her for a few moments before exiting the room again.

May was already there when she arrived, performing some sort of complicated calisthenics. She broke off as Bobbi made her way into the room. “Makeshift baby monitor,” Bobbi told her, holding up the phone before placing it on the side. May nodded, centering herself in the middle-left of the room. Bobbi got into position and they slowly began to circle each other, fists raised.

Bobbi attacked first, coming at her opponent with a jab to her stomach that quickly morphed into a kick to the calf. May countered it with a block and a punch of her own. They both pulled away with minor injuries and began circling again. “How’re the rest of the team taking it?” Bobbi asked. She barely managed to dodge May’s fist by stepping to the side and grabbing her forearm, using the woman’s momentum to fling her forward and to the ground. May spun as she hit the floor, one long sweep of her legs sending Bobbi crashing down as well. They both leaped up their feet, resuming the circling.

“They’re confused,” May replied. She feinted with a right hook, but Bobbi saw the true attack coming and blocked, ending them up in a forearm-to-forearm standstill. “But they’re taking it well.”

“Good.” Bobbi broke it with a kick at May’s exposed stomach, but before she knew it May’s legs had twisted around hers and she was lying flat on her back on the ground. She grunted, getting to her feet with a wry smile. “No one’s been able to do that to me in a long time.”

“You just haven’t had good enough partners.” May didn’t wait for Bobbi to be ready before going on the attack again, leading with a massive kick to the shins and following it up with a punch to the jaw.

The kick missed, but the punch connected, throwing Bobbi off-balance for a second. She returned with a vengeance, a swift strike at the collarbone that landed to full effect. May staggered backwards, and this time it was her whose butt hit the ground. She ignored Bobbi’s offer of a hand up, flipping herself back onto her toes with grace. Both wary of each other’s capabilities now, the circling recommenced.

“There’s a lot of talk,” May informed her. “You, Hunter, and Isabelle are what’s on everyone’s minds right now, and considering HYDRA’s recent attack on the UN—”

“—that’s saying something,” Bobbi finished. She ducked for May’s next swing, barely dancing over the footwork that came with what turned out to be a feint from above. “It’s a lot to deal with, just for me...without worrying about what the rest of the team thinks.” May eyed her. “Like Skye...she was supportive, but now she’ll know that I left Hunter out of it, and they’re already friends, and… Coulson’s too kind to say anything, but I saw the look in his eyes after I admitted that Hunter was the father.” They exchanged a flurry of blows.

“Coulson reserves judgment well,” May told her.

“And you?”

The specialist gave her a look. “I just keep mine to myself.” Bobbi remained silent as May blocked a punch to her side and responded with a swift jab of her knee. “You’re worried that I don’t understand your choice,” May surmised eventually after a few more quick exchanges of blows.

“You’re the one who I think would the most,” Bobbi admitted. May’s eyes narrowed, and somehow Bobbi ended up on the floor again with the woman’s hand hovering inches over her throat. After a moment May stood back and let Bobbi jump to her feet again, albeit a bit more slowly this time. “You might understand because you’re objective. You don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

May seemed to consider it for a minute, standing up and letting her fists drop to her sides. Bobbi gradually relaxed her stance as well. “Sometimes that’s the price of doing the right thing,” May said finally. “No one understands, and it hurts like hell.” She broke off, heading for the water bottle on the table and tossing one of the white towels to Bobbi. “You should go check on her, and get some rest.”

Bobbi nodded, feeling curiously like she’d just glimpsed a part of May that she’d never seen before. “I will.” They parted ways from their short but satisfying spar, Bobbi heading back to her room and May disappearing into Coulson’s office.

She opened the door softly to see Isabelle as undisturbed as before. Bobbi took a quick shower before climbing into bed herself, twisting onto her side to look at Isabelle’s sleeping form. Then she turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness.

* * *

Bobbi's eyelids cracked open as the lights hit near-full intensity, ratcheted up slowly as they were to match the gradual brightening of the day. It was a poor substitute for actual sunlight streaming through actual windows, but the best they had at the Playground. All of a sudden a rustle of sheets reminded her she wasn't alone, and she looked across towards the other bed. Isabelle was already awake and dressed, sitting on it quietly. "Good morning," Bobbi greeted her with a yawn. 

"Good morning," Isabelle mumbled back. She seemed much calmer this morning, almost...happier. And that gave Bobbi hope.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, slipping her legs out of bed and sitting up. The girl shrugged. “Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?”

“Yes!” Bobbi smiled, startled by her daughter’s enthusiasm. 

“Okay, well, just let me get dressed and we can head down to the kitchen,” she told her. She opened her drawer and pulled out a shirt and comfortable pants. “Some of the others might be there,” she said, pulling them on. “Do you remember their names?”

“Leo,” Isabelle replied promptly, holding up Thor the Monkey as proof. 

“That’s right,” Bobbi laughed. “And Jemma, and Skye, and May, and Coul—Phil.” Wow, it was weird calling him that. 

“Will the grumpy man be there?” Isabelle asked, frowning.

It took Bobbi a moment to figure out who her daughter was talking about. “Hunter? I honestly don’t know,” she told her truthfully. “But I’m sure he’ll be nicer this time, if he is.”

Isabelle nodded uncertainly, accepting Bobbi’s hand as her mother opened the door. She was still carrying both Hoppity and Thor, but Bobbi didn’t have the heart to tell her to leave the two stuffed animals in the room. The hallway was quiet as they stepped out, but Bobbi could hear voices as they neared the kitchen. 

“And—and then, it just sizzled,” Fitz was saying. “It wasn’t supposed to. And I legged it!”

Simmons burst into laughter. “The whole class had to be evacuated, because they thought it might explode.”

“It didn’t,” Fitz concluded, also laughing as Bobbi and Isabelle rounded the corner. She could see the three of them sitting at the table Fitz and Simmons next to each other with Skye across from them. The hacker was smiling as well, although she seemed a bit confused on why exactly their story was so funny. Mack and Triplett were at the coffee machine, and Bobbi just barely glimpsed Hunter heading up the stairs two-at-a-time away from them. So he  _ was  _ back.

The friendly chatter stopped as the two of them entered, and after a moment Skye exclaimed, “If it isn’t the newest member of the group!” She waved. “Hi Isabelle! Wanna come join us?”

Isabelle looked up at Bobbi, who nodded encouragingly. “Go on, I’ll get you something to eat.” 

“Actually, I’ve got that handled,” Coulson announced. He handed Bobbi two plates of steaming waffles fresh off the iron. “Here. Syrup’s on the table.” 

“If Fitz hasn’t used it all already,” Simmons cut in teasingly. 

“There’s some left!” the engineer protested indignantly. Bobbi thanked Coulson, taking the plates from him and setting them down on the table. Isabelle had taken the seat next to Skye, still holding her stuffed animals. 

“Why don’t you set Thor and Hoppity down next to you while you eat?” she suggested. “So you don’t drip syrup on them.” The girl hesitated, then acquiesced, setting the two down gingerly in between her and Bobbi. 

“Can I have lots of syrup?” Isabelle asked, looking between Bobbi and Skye.

“Sure!” Skye replied, taking the small pitcher from Fitz and handing it to her. “As much as you want.” Isabelle took it happily, tilting it almost 180 degrees over her waffle. 

“That’s probably…” Bobbi began, but the rest of the syrup was gone before she could finish the sentence. “...enough.” With steaming cups of coffee, Mack and Triplett took their seats on the opposite side of the table next to Fitz. She could have sworn Trip was laughing at her. Coulson finished off the waffle batter and stuck the last two under a paper towel to stay warm before sitting down in his customary seat at the far end.

“There we go!” Isabelle replied happily, handing the empty container back to Skye. She moved to pick it up with her fingers but this time Bobbi managed to stop her before she could, picking up a knife and reaching across the two stuffed animals to cut it for her. “Thank you,” her daughter said shyly. Her small fingers hefted the large metal fork and she stabbed it haphazardly into a bite-sized chunk of waffle, a smidgen of excess syrup falling onto her shirt anyway as she lifted it to her mouth. 

Everyone looked up as May came down the stairs. “Good morning!” Simmons greeted her brightly as Bobbi tried to wipe the syrup off Isabelle’s clothing only to have even more fall with the next bite. Bobbi sighed and decided to wait until the end. 

May crossed to the counter and picked up her plate, disposing of the paper towel. She looked around the table as she approached, and Bobbi realized that with all eight of them seated at the table plus the space for Hoppity and Thor, there wasn’t enough room for another person. 

Coulson seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Here, sit with me,” he suggested, shifting over on the bench seat at the head of the rectangular table. The specialist did, sandwiching them both in the tiny area. Bobbi resisted the urge to smile at the agent’s apparent discomfort with her sudden loss of personal space. 

Laughter filled the table, emanating from Simmons, who must have been having her own little side conversation with Fitz from the way they were both grinning. They certainly did have a lot inside jokes with one another—enough to fill a book—and Bobbi often found that neither she nor the rest of the team could decipher what seemed to be their secret language of references to their time at the Academy and complex science knowledge. She didn’t have enough time to wonder this time around, however, because May’s words sliced through the atmosphere. 

“Skye, pass the syrup?” May asked. Like everything else, it sounded very much like an order coming from her. 

Bobbi instantly felt everybody’s eyes on her and Isabelle and all chatter shut down. 

When Skye didn’t respond instantly, May reached over and picked it up herself. “Okay, who used the last of the syrup?” she asked, casting her dark eyes around the table. As they reached her, Isabelle grabbed Hoppity, the nearest, and hid behind him, using both the bunny and Skye as a shield against the specialist’s wrath. Bobbi shook her head slightly and May relented. “I think there’s some more in the pantry,” she said stiffly, rising to fetch it.

"It’s okay, Isabelle,” Bobbi whispered to her, attempting to extract Hoppity from her death grip to allow the girl to finish eating. Isabelle instantly let out a loud sound of protest, holding onto Hoppity even tighter. 

“Let her keep holding the rabbit,” Trip suggested lightly. Bobbi released Hoppity, watching as her daughter quickly hugged it close to her in an attempt to hold the toy tighter. She nodded her thanks to Trip uncertainly, settling back in her seat.

“I—I had a monkey stuffed animal when I was younger,” Fitz said suddenly, looking as awkward as Bobbi felt. “His name was Maxwell.” 

“I had a stuffed bear, with one eye and a button for its other eye. Her name was Cocoa,” Skye told them all. 

“I never had a stuffed animal,” Simmons commented, looking momentarily puzzled by the thought. 

“You never had a—that’s strange,” Fitz said.

“No, it isn’t!” Simmons countered, looking around them all for confirmation.

“Actually, it is. I thought every child had one,” Skye said, looking at Simmons. “What did you play with?”

“My dad had these expensive collectible action figures that…” Bobbi heard Coulson’s sharp intake of air at the thought of a young Simmons using priceless figurines as toys. With a glance at Isabelle, she noticed that Hoppity was back in his original spot and that her daughter was back to attacking the waffle pieces with gusto as she listened to the friendly conversation around them. “I still have one of the action figures on top of my dresser,” Simmons continued. “My dad is determined to get it back; I don’t think he understands that it’s mine now.” They all laughed, and Isabelle smiled through a mouthful of food.

“I would hide Dad’s keys,” Trip offered. 

“I did that too,” Simmons said cheerfully. “I would put them in my pocket or in a bag and keep them with me. Then my parents would have to give me attention and my dad couldn’t leave for work so early.” 

“All done!” Isabelle announced, tilting her clean plate to show it to Bobbi. 

“Do you want some fruit?” she asked, standing and walking to the fridge. “We have...apples, oranges, and watermelon.”

“Watermelon!” Isabelle requested eagerly. 

“Coming right up,” Bobbi laughed. She pulled the container out and returned with it and a spoon to the table. She plopped some chunks of watermelon onto Isabelle’s plate before passing the container off to Mack, who was eying it hungrily. Unlike with the waffle, Isabelle did not dig in right away but instead poked at them with her fork.

“What are you doing?” Skye asked curiously.

“Picking out the seeds,” Isabelle replied happily. “Daddy says the white ones are okay, but the black ones will make a watermelon grow in my stomach!”

All talking stopped again as everyone looked to Bobbi, unsure of how to respond to that. She didn’t have an answer for them—of course she couldn’t stop Isabelle from talking about her adoptive parents, nor did she wish to. It was just...uncomfortable. 

“Well, that’s just silly,” Simmons said finally. “The hydrochloric acid and pepsin in your stomach will dissolve the seeds just fine.”

Isabelle shrugged, blissfully unaware of the silence she’d just caused. “I don’t like them anyway. They crunch weird.”

With a glance at Bobbi, Skye laughed. “If you don’t hurry and eat them, some of them might disappear from you,” she teased, swiftly stabbing one with a fork and popping it into her mouth. 

The girl didn’t seem to mind. “You can have some,” she chirped. “You’re my friend. We’re going to watch Disney together.”

“Yes, we are,” Skye replied, surprised that she had remembered. Bobbi couldn’t help but smile. “But first, don’t you want a tour?” She looked to Coulson. “We are allowed to give her a tour, right?”

The director nodded. “Just don’t take her anywhere dangerous and make it clear where exactly she’s allowed to go unattended.”

“Unattended?” May questioned with a significant glance at Coulson.

“I think the residences and living area should be fine,” he replied. May paused and then dipped her head reluctantly, signaling her consent. 

“Great!” Skye turned back to Isabelle. “You want to see the rest of this place or what?”

“Yes!”

“Wait,” Bobbi interrupted with a smile. “You have to get cleaned up first, Isabelle. You’re a mess.” She wet a paper towel at the sink and attempted a scrubbing of her daughter’s sticky hands with little success. “We’re going to have to get you into some new clothes,” Bobbi decided finally, giving up with the paper towel. At least her hands were clean enough now to not gum up Hoppity or Thor’s fur as she carried them back to their room. 

“Meet you outside my bunk?” Skye offered. “Who else wants to come?”

“I will,” Simmons replied instantly. 

“Me too,” Fitz added.

“Agent Simmons, you still have those HYDRA files to go through,” Coulson reminded her. “And Fitz, the analysis of those splinter bombs.”

“Right,” Simmons said, face falling. 

“I’ll help you with those, Turbo; it’ll go quicker,” Mack told him. 

“We’ll stop by the lab on our tour,” Skye assured Simmons. “Trip?”

“Sure, I’ll tag along,” Triplett grinned. “Unless you have something you need me to do, boss?” Coulson shook his head. 

“Okay, it’s settled then,” Bobbi said, taking Isabelle’s hand as she helped her out of her seat. Isabelle retrieved Hoppity and Thor. “See you in about ten minutes.”


	9. The Playground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle takes a tour of the base.

“Why don’t you leave one of them here?” Isabelle looked uncertainly between the two stuffed animals in her arms. “Leave Thor, he’s already gotten the tour from Fitz before you got here,” Bobbi suggested. Her daughter hesitantly placed the monkey on the bed, propping him up on his many limbs carefully. Bobbi smiled. “Now, are you ready to go?” Isabelle hugged Hoppity and nodded. 

“Okay then,” Bobbi opened the door and they headed out into the hallway. Skye and Triplett were waiting for them in front of the next room over. 

"Hey!" Skye greeted them cheerfully. She gestured to the door. "Isabelle, this is my room. You can visit me any time you want." 

Isabelle smiled up at Skye, ready for the tour. Isabelle slipped her hand into Bobbi’s, and Skye and Triplett fell into step beside them. “I thought first we’d show you where we all hang out; it’s pretty comfy,” Skye suggested, turning around the corner. They entered the common area with the large U.S. flag pinned up on the wall, the squashy arm chairs, and the large couch facing the widescreen TV. 

“The kitchen is just through that door, but you’ve already seen that,” Bobbi added, gesturing toward the door in question. 

“This room literally has the best seats in the whole place!” Trip said. 

“Maybe we could watch a Disney movie here later?” Skye added. “When we’re finished with the tour, I mean.” She glanced at Bobbi, who nodded. “What’s your favorite?” she asked Isabelle. 

“ _ Tangled _ ,” Isabelle answered. “I want my hair to grow as long as Rapunzel’s, but Mommy wouldn’t let me.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Skye laughed. “You’d get so many knots in your hair! Or spend all of your time brushing them out.”

Bobbi looked at Triplett, confused as to what exactly they were talking about, but she only got the same bemused look back. 

“We should watch it,” Isabelle said to Skye. “You look like Rapunzel after the funny nose guy cut all her hair off and it turned brown like yours.”

“Umm...thanks?” Skye said with an amused glance at Trip. “We’ll watch it after, okay? I promised Fi—Leo and Jemma that we would visit them on our way.”

“Okay!” Isabelle agreed. 

Bobbi stepped closer to Skye. “Do you have the Disney movies?” she whispered. 

Skye nodded. “Downloaded a bunch last night, don’t worry.” The young hacker grinned. “I’m prepared!”

“Let’s continue then,” Trip said with a smile. “You don’t mind if I crash the Disney-watching party later?”

“Of course not, the more, the merrier,” Skye told him.

“Party?” Isabelle asked.

Skye looked uncertain for a moment. “We’ll have popcorn,” she promised. “And I’ll get a bunch of blankets so we’ll be all cuddly. Sound good?”

“Yes. Now, Leo!” Isabelle insisted. Bobbi laughed at her antics. The group turned around and headed back out the way they had come. Isabelle pulled free of Bobbi’s hand as they neared her room door, running up to it and tugging on the handle but failing to get it to open. “I need Thor!” she announced. 

Bobbi blinked before following her, gently moving Isabelle’s grasping hand out of the way and twisting smoothly. “Why do you need Thor?”

“Because we’re going to see Leo!” she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Bobbi had barely gotten the door open before Isabelle slipped through the crack and into the room. She placed Hoppity down neatly on the bed and picked up Thor the Monkey instead. 

“Ready?” Bobbi asked. Isabelle nodded and returned to her side. 

Bobbi took them back to Triplett and Skye, both of whom were laughing at the stuffed animal swap. “I’d forgotten what little kids are like sometimes,” Trip grinned as they rejoined the two of them. 

Bobbi could hear the low tones of Coulson and May as they neared his office. Isabelle peeked inside. "Let's not disturb them," Bobbi advised, giving a slight tug on her hand, but it was too late. 

Coulson broke into a smile and ushered them inside his office, while May pursed her lips and said nothing, standing off to the side until she could finish her report. The director showed off the model Lola Mack had built for him, taking it off the stand and allowing Isabelle to roll it across his desk a few times. When the girl was finished exploring the office—Coulson encouraged her to open and investigate the various cabinets around the room; perhaps his talk with May was really boring—they bade goodbye to the director and continued on their way. As they approached the lab, Bobbi could see Simmons staring frustratedly into a microscope and then consulting the file in front of her on one side, with Fitz and Mack sequestered on the other. 

Almost the instant Bobbi had opened the lab door Isabelle took off toward him. "Leo! I got Thor!" 

"Isa—" Bobbi began before starting after her daughter. Fitz looked up from his work and promptly shut the black case on the lab table. She caught up right as Isabelle reached him, ignoring the amused look from Mack. 

"Isabelle!" Fitz greeted her with enthusiasm. He smiled as she waved Thor as close to his face as she could lift it—which was not very close at all. "I see he's been going on the tour with you. That's a good thing, because he's new here too."

"He is?" her daughter asked curiously, tilting her head adorably with the question. 

"Yeah," Fitz confirmed. "He also really likes science experiments. Do you like science?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I don't know." 

"Well, how about we find out?" Fitz suggested. "Just give me a minute to get it set up..." He turned away, rummaging through the cupboards behind them. "Hey, Mack, give me a hand here?"

"Sure, Turbo," Mack said, exchanging a look with Bobbi as he moved to help out the engineer. Skye and Triplett looked on interestedly from the sidelines.

Isabelle watched in fascination as Fitz pulled on thick rubber gloves. "For the, uh..." 

"Dry ice?" Mack supplied. 

"Yes, that," he said. "Simmons put it in the..." He trailed off as he located the correct temperature-controlled container in the corner and unlatched the lid, removing a large chunk of ice with curls of mist coming off the top of it. 

"Smoke!" Isabelle pointed. Fitz dropped the ice into a beaker and then filled a graduated cylinder full of water at the sink. He poured it into the beaker, and Isabelle clapped her hands together as the mixture began to froth and fog began to spill out the top of the beaker. 

“It’s not smoke; it’s water vapor,” Fitz told her, “from the sublimation.” 

Isabelle took a step closer and peered into the beaker. “It  _ looks _ like smoke…” 

“Well, the difference is…” Fitz began what sounded like a dumbed-down but still long-winded explanation. Bobbi stepped nearer to Mack.

“It’s cute seeing them like this,” she said quietly, watching the two of them.

“I think little kids being cute is a law of nature,” Mack replied. He paused. “How’re you doing?”

“We’re adjusting well.”

“How are  _ you _ doing?”

Bobbi’s lips curved upwards slightly. “I...don’t know. I feel like I’m treading water with all of this, trying to keep my head above the surface. I never know what she’s going to do next.”

“I know how much you like predictability,” Mack nodded. “That’s not going to happen with a kid. You’re sunk on that one.”

Bobbi gestured toward Skye, Triplett, Fitz, and Isabelle, dropping her voice volume even lower. “She likes Fitz, and Coulson, and Skye… You saw her when she got in here. Will she ever run toward me like that?”

“Of course she will.”

Bobbi gave a wry smile. “Currently the only person she likes less than me is Hunter. And May, because May’s radiating disapproval all the time. But I’m the one who took her here—the one she might blame for taking her away from her parents. She...she told me she wanted to go home, and I was the one who had to tell her no. What if she never likes me?”

“She will,” Mack said without hesitation. “When she settles in here, she will.”

“But not now.”

“You’re trying too hard,” Mack told her. “You’re terrified—” She gave him a look. “—yes, Bobbi,  _ terrified _ , of making a mistake with her. You’re trying to be her guardian; the others are trying to be her friend.”

“But I am her—”

“Yes, you are. And I’m not saying you should act differently. You do have responsibilities that the others don’t. In a way, you’re acting like May.”

“That really doesn’t—” Bobbi stopped abruptly as fog exploded across the table, engulfing Isabelle for a moment before settling further towards the ground. Bobbi leaped forward, pulling her daughter from the midst of the white cloud that was still erupting out of the beaker. Fitz jumped backwards as well, and Skye was nearly doubled over with laughter while Triplett grinned appreciatively.

“Wow, I didn’t expect such a large…” Fitz said. “Maybe not have the water boiling next time. He fanned the top of the beaker with his hand but it showed no signs of slowing its fog production. Whiteness began creeping across the ground, not-so-slowly expanding outwards. 

Isabelle pulled free from Bobbi’s grip, jumping up and down in the murkiness. “So cool!” Fitz saw the look on her face and smiled shyly back. 

Bobbi ran to hit the red emergency ventilation button on the wall. After a moment, there was a loud whirring and the pearly gas began to be sucked up through the ventilation grates. "Okay, maybe we shouldn't be disseminating noxious gas that sinks to the floor when we've got a small child standing a foot away," she said. 

“Right, no, not a good idea,” Fitz admitted, taking the beaker away to the sink. The cloud floated along with him, the beaker still frothing away. He turned back to Isabelle. “So that’s what science looks like. What’d you think?”

“I love science!” Isabelle proclaimed. “Can we do some more?”

They all laughed. “Maybe some other time,” Mack said as Bobbi opened her mouth to reply. She gave him a grateful glance, knowing he had just saved her from having to be the bad guy again. “Fitz and I have to get back to work.”

“Want to go see Jemma now?” Skye asked. “She’s right over there.” Skye gestured towards the far end of the lab. At the sound of her name, Simmons moved her microscope to the center of the table—where Isabelle wouldn’t be able to reach it—and closed the HYDRA file out of which she had been working. The biochemist eagerly gestured for them to come over. 

“Hey, Isabelle!” she greeted her cheerily as the girl bounced up to meet her with Bobbi right behind and Skye and Trip following at a more sedate pace. “I saw Fitz’s experiment; it looked really—”

“Hey, Simmons, I cut my hand cleaning out that bloody supply closet of the SSR’s; any chance you could patch—” Hunter stopped abruptly as he saw all of them standing there, staring as he had been at the red streak on his palm. Isabelle immediately attached herself to Bobbi’s leg, and despite everything Bobbi was secretly glad that it was  _ her  _ leg Isabelle was clinging to for support.

“...Uh, sure,” Simmons said quickly. She opened a drawer and pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves before going over to him and peering at his hand. “I’ll get you an alcohol wipe just to be safe, but it doesn’t look too deep,” she told him. She walked away towards the cabinet, leaving the rest of them just standing there.

Hunter shifted on his feet. “Hi, Isabelle,” he said uncertainly. She didn’t reply, just stared up at him with wide eyes. Bobbi put a hand on her back comfortingly, and she’d be damned if Hunter’s eyes didn’t narrow slightly at her action. She wasn’t trying to be possessive...okay, maybe a little bit. But Hunter was the one with the real problem. If he didn’t act like anything more than a jackass this time around…

The tiny scratch on his hand would be the least of his worries.

“Here we are!” Simmons said brightly, producing a box of wipes. “Rinse your hand in the sink first.” Hunter followed her instructions and then proffered his injured hand to her. She attacked it with a hand wipe.

“Ow!” he protested. Bobbi gave him a disparaging look.

“Well, we don’t want it to get infected now, do we?” Simmons asked, finishing up with the wipe with Hunter’s palm in her surprisingly iron-like grip. She released him and he reclaimed his hand quickly.

He turned to Skye with a scowl. “I see what you mean about Dr. Simmons being kind of mean.”

“Told you,” Skye laughed. She caught Simmons’s eye. “I said  _ strict _ . But...yeah.”

“I’ll be right back with a bandage,” Simmons said, letting the moment pass.

Hunter looked down at Isabelle again, hesitating. “I—I know we got off on the wrong foot the first time, so...I’m Lance.” He held out his hand to her, the opposite from the one he had injured. She crept forward and took it. Hunter shook her hand gently before letting go.

“You have a boo-boo,” Isabelle told him, stepping back closer to Bobbi again. “My mommy kisses my boo-boos better. Who kisses yours?”

Hunter looked at all of them. He raised an eyebrow.

“No thanks,” Skye said with a small laugh.

“Don’t look at me, dude,” Triplett told him.

“Ah, no, I don’t really think that kind of behavior’s appropriate in the doctor-patient relationship…” Simmons said, returning with some tape and a roll of cloth. “Plus, it’s not really the most sanitary of actions with an open wound…” She set about wrapping his hand.

Bobbi simply gave him another look.

Isabelle looked around at all of the adults expectantly, but when no one did anything walked up to Hunter as Simmons finished bandaging. “I’ll do it,” she told him sincerely. She stood on her tippy-toes and planted a kiss in the middle of the wrapping. Hunter just stood there looking stunned, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. “There, all better!” she said happily, retreating a few paces to admire her handiwork.

“Thank you,” Hunter told her after a moment. He had an odd expression on his face.

Bobbi couldn’t help but smile.


	10. Commitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Isabelle bond, and Bobbi and Hunter have a long-needed conversation.

"Can we? Can we, please?" Isabelle asked, looking up at Bobbi eagerly. "You said after dinner. It's after dinner!"

She smiled. "Yes, go ahead. Start the movie without me though; I need to talk to Hunter." She glanced at Skye for confirmation and the younger agent nodded. 

"But you'll miss the beginning," Isabelle said with a frown. "The beginning is the part where the sunlight turns into the golden flower!"

"It's okay," Bobbi promised though she was a little unclear on what exactly Isabelle was going on about. She paused. "Didn't Skye say you could have popcorn with the movie?"

"Yeah!" Isabelle remembered, turning to Skye and tugging excitedly on her arm. "Popcorn!" Bobbi took a few steps backward while her daughter was distracted, waiting to see if the girl would be fine staying with Skye. With a stuffed animal tucked under each arm—because of course neither of them could be left out for the movie—Isabelle appeared to be perfectly content to be left in Skye's care. It didn't surprise Bobbi all that much. Skye was a natural with kids, probably because she had an excitable personality herself and exuded friendliness. 

Bobbi started up the stairs after her ex-husband, who had conveniently disappeared right after the first plate was placed in the sink. She had three guesses as to where he might be, given that the currently-occupied kitchen was where Coulson mandated all the alcohol be stored: his bunk, sulking; his car, ready to take off again; or the gym, blowing off some steam though exercising feelings out had always been more of her thing. She checked his room first, knocking on the door. "Hunter?" There was no response, but she couldn't really expect one if he was truly trying to ignore her. "Hunter!" she banged on the door again. "If you're in there and not opening this door, I'm going to come back with Mack and an ax!"

"Do you need me?" Mack asked from behind her, watching her with a slightly amused expression. 

"Hunter won't open the door," Bobbi explained. 

"Because he's not in there," Mack said calmly, gesturing towards the room in question. "You can bend down, look at the crack underneath, and see that the light's not on."

"...Right," Bobbi turned on her heel. "Sorry, I'm not thinking straight when it comes to Hunter."

"You rarely are, the time you married him being a good example," Mack told her dryly. "Sure you want to talk to him, Barbara?"

"Yes, we can't just go tiptoeing around each other for the next week and a half," Bobbi replied. "I'm well aware of Hunter's usual sulk-drink-talk routine, but I'm not standing for his schedule this time. Not with Isabelle here."

"What are you going to say?"

"I want to know his intentions."

Mack raised an eyebrow. "You sound like he's a suitor of Isabelle's, not her father."

"I'm not letting him get close to her if he's not sticking around, Mack.” She sighed. "Earlier, in the med lab, he introduced himself properly, and Isabelle...kissed his boo-boo better," Bobbi said in a slightly strangled voice. Those were not words she'd ever thought she'd hear herself saying. "Our marriage ended and it was both our faults, but that doesn't change Hunter's history. Commitment issues are definitely a part of it. And if I'm going to let him bond with Isabelle, it needs to be the biggest commitment of his life."

Mack stopped for a second, as if weighing his next words carefully. "Is this kind of thing what you've asked of the team as well?"

"Of course not," Bobbi shook her head. 

"Who's Isabelle with right now?"

"Skye."

"And Skye's allowed to spend time alone with her without signing some sort of contract with you not to leave?" Mack asked, his tone utterly non-confrontational. 

"That's different," Bobbi said. "Hunter and Skye are—"

"No, it's not," Mack said. "You haven't told Isabelle who Hunter really is, or who you really are, for that matter. And that's your own prerogative, but you can't expect more from Hunter than you do anyone else if you're treating him the same in regards to Isabelle."

Bobbi faltered. "I was thinking maybe someday..."

"Maybe someday? Barbara, maybe you should let the man make friends with your daughter before you start shoving fatherly responsibilities on him.”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture, Mack,” Bobbi said sharply. 

“You want someone to help you through this, I get that,” Mack stepped forward. “You want someone to feel as responsible for her well-being and happiness as you do right now; you want someone to help you bear the weight and pressure of it. But you can’t put it all on Hunter. The rest of the team is here for you too.” 

"I still want to know," Bobbi said stubbornly. "Or at least see where he stands. He  _ is _ different from the rest of them. Someday I will tell Isabelle who I really am, and you know exactly what her next question will be: who's my father? Hunter has more responsibility than the others whether he likes it or wants it or not. Isabelle's only four right now—if he doesn't want this commitment, this is his one and only chance to leave where she likely won't remember ever meeting him. It's a softer blow for me to tell her, when the time comes, that she never met her father. Instead of that she has and he still left."

Mack shifted uneasily. "I see your point. But don't expect Hunter to be receptive to what you have to say." He turned away, beginning to walk back down the hallway. "He's in the garage."

"Couldn't you have led with that?" Bobbi asked, rolling her eyes. "But thanks. He's not...he's not leaving, is he?"

"Didn't ask," Mack called behind him before disappearing into the lab. 

Bobbi headed for the garage, pausing to check on Isabelle and Skye in the lounge first. To her surprise, most of the team seemed to be there—Coulson and May in chairs they had pulled from the kitchen table, Trip and Skye on the couch with Isabelle in between them, Fitz and Simmons sharing a large armchair—although only Skye and Isabelle seemed to be singing the song with the movie. "I'll reread the books if I have time to spare...I'll paint the walls some more—I'm sure there's room somewhere! And then I'll brush and brush and brush and brush my hair! Stuck in the same place I've always been..." 

Coulson was smiling broadly as he glanced between the girl on screen and Isabelle and Skye and FitzSimmons were laughing quietly. "Come on, you guys, join us!" Skye urged during a break in the song. They stopped laughing immediately. 

"We don't know the words," Simmons said a little too innocently. 

"Nope, not a clue," Fitz agreed. 

May spotted Bobbi as she watched from the doorway and their gazes connected. The Cavalry gave her a short nod—everything was fine here; May would make sure Isabelle stayed safe while she was gone—and Bobbi mouthed thanks before turning away. The resumed sounds of singing trailed after her. "Tomorrow night...the lights will appear...just like they do..." Bobbi was smiling as the last strains of childlike happiness faded out of earshot as she approached the door to the garage. Then she steeled herself for what she might find beyond that door—Hunter's car missing, Hunter playing darts with a picture of her face, Hunter having gone out and bought another stupid 1967 GTO to replace the one she'd torched—and twisted the handle, stepping into the garage. 

The main source of light was coming from the interior of the Bus. The ramp was partially lowered and her ex-husband was sitting on the edge of it, with his legs dangling. He was nursing a beer bottle with another two unopened ones next to him. "Hunter," Bobbi said loudly. He jumped.

"Oh, it's you," he said as she moved forward into the light. "Don't surprise people like that; we live on a base with a bunch of lethal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

"Myself included, I think I'll be fine."

Hunter tipped the beer bottle to her before bringing it to his lips again. 

"Where'd you find those?" Bobbi asked, coming to a stop at the base of the ramp and looking up at him. He was only sitting a few feet off the ground, but it was enough that she had to tilt her head to see him properly. There weren't many people to whom she had to look up. 

"May's stash," Hunter replied off-handedly. "Apparently she keeps a couple of these behind the scotch."

"May's going to kill you."

"Won't be any different from any other day."

Bobbi gave him the ghost of a smile. "True." She paused. "Hunter, we need to talk."

"Unless it's about alcohol, the merits of which I'm always game to expatiate, I've got nothing to say to you," he said coldly. 

"Okay then, pop one open," Bobbi said, gesturing to a bottle and hoisting herself up to sit on the ramp with a few feet of space between them. 

"You kidding? If I'm going to get killed over these, I sure as hell am going to be the one drinking them," Hunter said, scooting the bottles to his other side and away from her. 

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "You were good today, with her, Hunter." He didn't reply. "I...I liked seeing her with you, the two of you interacting." 

"What's your point, Bob?"

"I want to know if you're going to stick around," she told him, watching his facial expression. 

"That's rich, coming from you."

"What?" Bobbi asked, confused. 

"You're the one who was always leaving," Hunter told her. "For your missions, for S.H.I.E.L.D. I was always the one being left behind, the one who was second-priority."

"You had your own work, first with the SAS and then as a mercenary," Bobbi said. "What I did for S.H.I.E.L.D. was my duty, Hunter. It was my job. And you're really going to bring this up  _ now _ ?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed loudly. "I bring it up because you have no right asking me something like that when you're just as guilty of it yourself. Four years ago, you left me without even telling me about the child we were going to have!"

"We were  _ divorced _ ," Bobbi growled. "And I had every right back then, just like I do now!"

"The right?" Hunter shouted. "What the bloody hell gives you the right?"

"You better get real used to being second, Hunter," Bobbi hissed, eyes flashing. "Because with me, you'll never be first. You never  _ should _ be first. You know why?" She thrust her hand out to the side, pointing viciously to the blank wall to the left. "She's in there, watching a Disney movie with the rest of the team while I'm out here, talking with you so she won't hear us fight! So I can be sure that you won't run out on her the minute things get hard!"

“What about you?” Hunter growled. “How can I be sure that you won’t take off permanently—or even for a mission. I  _ know _ that as soon as there’s an op, you will. You’ll leave that little girl in the care of somebody else and take off. Not caring how dangerous it is or what chances there are of you coming back! S.H.I.E.L.D. and your missions will come before Isabelle like they’ve always eclipsed everything else in your life. She’ll be second too.”

“You and Isabelle are completely different situations,” Bobbi countered in a low voice. “She’s my  _ daughter _ .”

“Which makes it even worse! You gave her up because you couldn’t be bothered to look after her yourself, with or without me! You chose S.H.I.E.L.D. first then and you will again; it’s just a matter of time!” Hunter accused.

“I gave her up because of  _ you  _ and your stupid—” Bobbi yelled in response.

"So in answer to your question, love," Hunter said tightly, hopping off the edge of the ramp and landing on the floor with a thud. He looked up at her, livid. "Yeah, I'm sticking around. For Isabelle. For Coulson. But not for you." 


	11. Storytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle wants her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the guest reader 'Bobbi Morse is my KWEEN' from last chapter, I need you to know you made my day! Definitely look back at the comment when I post the latest chapter because I usually reply too :))

"I want a story!" Isabelle announced as Bobbi pulled the covers over her and tucked her in. She was adorable in the way her eyes held her gaze seriously and how her upper lip pouted just a tidbit over her lower one. 

"You just watched a movie; you want a story too?" Bobbi asked. If the girl wanted a story then Bobbi would find one to read, but it seemed a bit like overkill to her.

"Yes," Isabelle insisted in that four-year-old voice that was so self-confident it was actually cute rather than aggravating. "Every night, I have to have a story. Who can read it to me?"

"I can," Bobbi suggested. "Or I can ask anybody you like if you have someone in mind."

Her daughter's face lit up. "Mommy! I want Mommy to read me a bedtime story!"

"Isabelle..." she tried to make her voice as understanding yet firm as possible. She'd meant someone on the base, but this incident was perhaps her fault this time. 

"No! You promised anybody!" the girl said, throwing off the blankets and sitting up defiantly. "I want  _ Mommy _ !"

"I'm sorry, Isabelle, she's not here," Bobbi told her. "She can't read you a story. You'll have to pick someone else."

"No! MOMMY!" 

Bobbi just stood there for a moment, at a loss for what to do as angry tears began to streak down the four-year-old's face. "Tell me about your mommy," she tried. 

"Then you'll let her read me a bedtime story?" Isabelle asked hopefully through wet lashes. 

"We'll see," Bobbi said, unable to come up with any other suitable answer. Though she might have been a renowned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for espionage and undercover ops, she certainly wasn't doing well talking to a four-year-old. 

"My mommy's the bestest Mommy in the whole world," Isabelle informed her. "She holds my hand when we go outside. She plays with Hoppity and me. She hugs me when I cry." The girl thought about it for a second. "And I hug her when she cries too," she added proudly.

"Why would she be crying?" Bobbi questioned, frowning and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

"I don't know," Isabelle replied, lying back down. "She just does, especially after Daddy gets out of the car." Her response made little sense, and only confused things more. "Can Daddy read me a story instead? He does even better animal noises than Mommy!"

"Not tonight, Isabelle," Bobbi said softly. 

"Tomorrow night?" Isabelle asked hopefully. 

"I'll have to check with him," Bobbi agreed finally. "Not tonight though. I'm sure he's already asleep."

"But I'm scared!"

"What are you scared of?" she asked, concerned.

"I don't know. I just am," Isabelle said as she pulled the covers up over her chest and wiggled downward until only her nose poked out above them. Bobbi couldn’t tell if the girl was being evasive or honestly didn’t know.

"It's okay to be scared," she told her. "But you don't need to be. This is one of the safest places in the world."

"I still want Mommy," Isabelle repeated with a sniffle. "Will you ask her tomorrow? Promise?"

Bobbi brushed a hand over her daughter's forehead and stroked her hair. "I know you miss her. I know this has been hard for you, and you’ve been very brave." 

"Promise?" Isabelle asked again. 

"I promise." 

Isabelle's eyes fluttered. "'kay. I trust you. Mommy will be here tomorrow because she always comes when I'm scared," she said confidently. Bobbi's heart clenched at the word 'trust'—trust was the first step toward love, right? Now she really would have to contact Isabelle's parents somehow.

"Do you still want a story?" she asked softly. 

"I can wait," Isabelle murmured, happy but sleepy. All of the excitement of the day plus her latest emotional outburst must have exhausted her. A few seconds later and Isabelle's eyes slipped shut. Bobbi rose quietly from the bed, careful not to disturb her. 

Outside, she stopped in her tracks. What the hell had she been thinking? She couldn't contact Isabelle's adoptive parents! Especially not to admit to them that she was having trouble connecting with her own child. Plus, wouldn't that just be stringing Isabelle along? Wouldn't it be better if she just never saw her parents again so that she'd have an easier time moving on? 

Bobbi knocked softly on Skye’s door, not wanting to wake the hacker up but desperately needing someone to talk to. Skye had been a foster child once, and at that same age as well. If anyone could shed some light on what was going on in Isabelle's head and what was really best for her, it was her. 

Skye opened it almost immediately, wearing the same lounge clothes as she had while watching the movie. “Bobbi, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could give me some advice,” she replied, “regarding Isabelle.”

“Of course!” Skye said, gesturing inside. “Come on in.” Once they were both seated on the bed, she prompted, “So, what’s bothering you? Isabelle seems like she’s adjusting really well so far. Amazingly well, actually. She’s a sweet girl.”

“She goes through stages,” Bobbi admitted. “With you guys and the tour and the movie...she seemed fine. But when it was time for bed, she wanted her mother to read her a story, and…”

“That’s harsh,” Skye murmured, giving her a sympathetic look. 

“It’s not the first time she’s expressed a wish to go back either,” she told her. “Nights seem to be especially hard.”

“It’s only been two,” Skye reminded her.

“Which makes me sound crazy,” Bobbi agreed. “It’s just...I’m worried about her. I know being homesick is probably normal, but it doesn’t seem like she’s gotten any kind of closure with her old home… Is it even possible to get closure being moved like that?” She looked questioningly at Skye, who considered it carefully. 

“It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Isabelle misses her old home,” Skye said finally. “And no, there’s not all that much closure in switching families like I did in the foster system. But...do you think she knows why she was given up in the first place?”

“ _ I _ don’t even know that.”

Skye nodded. “I think I at least had that going for me at all my old foster homes. I mean, I later found out that it was S.H.I.E.L.D. moving me around a lot to keep me safe, but back then there at least seemed to be some sense in it, even when I was younger. If I didn’t get along with the other kids, I got sent back. If I broke something—sent back. If I just plain wasn’t what they were looking for—back into the system.”

“But do you think knowing would help?” Bobbi asked. “I’m pretty sure Isabelle doesn’t know; she doesn’t act like it. If she did, I would expect her to be more angry and upset at her parents—she just seems sad and confused. But the only way I could find out that information is to call them, and...I’m not sure Isabelle would believe any reason I gave her if it came from me. I’m already worried she doesn’t quite like me, or thinks I took her away from her parents or something like that.” She paused. "I  _ hate _ seeing her sad. I hate having to tell her no."

Skye sighed. “I honestly don’t know. You could let her speak to them over the phone if they were willing—”

“—but that might only increase her desire to see them, make all the old feelings well up again,” Bobbi finished. “Maybe a clean break would be better. Maybe I just need to be more patient.” She laughed softly, humorlessly. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Skye.”

The hacker smiled encouragingly. “Does any first-time parent?”

“I suppose not. It’s just...” 

“Hard,” Skye smiled again. “It’s hard for the kid, too. You’re not the only one.”

“I just wish I knew how to make it easier,” Bobbi replied with a sigh. "Tonight, I...I might have just made it worse. She was telling me she was scared and that she missed her family and I...I told her I'd ask her parents if they would come read her a bedtime story."

"They can't," Skye said immediately. "Not here, not to the Playground they can't."

"A phone call, or Skype, or something would be good enough, I think," Bobbi said. "It won't be the same, but...I still can't help but wonder if it would really be good for her." 

"For them to read her a story, or for her to learn the truth of why they gave her back?"

"Either. Both. What if she doesn't remember any of this in the morning? She is only four. What if she remembers all of it?" Bobbi met the other woman's eyes. "She said she  _ trusted _ me, Skye. I can't lose that. It's all we've got."

“Well, how about this?” Skye began. “You do have contact information for the old parents?”

“Yeah, it’s how I got the pictures over the years.”

“Then call them. Ask why they gave Isabelle up. If it’s something bad, you don’t have to tell her. But if it isn’t… You can decide after you hear it whether you think it’ll help or be detrimental to her settling in here.”

“You’re a genius,” Bobbi told her.

Skye smiled. “I’ve been told. Well, not as much as FitzSimmons—but I’ve been told. You’re too focused on the bigger picture. Try to take it more as one day at a time, and see how that works for you. As for the bedtime story...she's only expecting you to ask tomorrow, right? This is something that's really important to her. If she remembers you agreeing to ask, it's all you'll be hearing from her in her waking hours. If she doesn't...maybe tomorrow night I could come read to her? Like, don't ask if she wants me to, just have me show up. If the idea that her parents could do it was never there in the first place, I think she'll happily take a story from me."

“You would do that?" Bobbi asked. 

Skye laughed. "For Isabelle? Seriously, anything. And for you too—I don't know if anyone's told you, but what you're doing? It's really brave. All the foster parents who sent me back to the system...they could learn a thing or two from you."

"Thank you,” Bobbi said seriously. She smiled at Skye. Maybe she and Isabelle were both being brave in this venture. The hacker returned the smile and Bobbi stood to leave.

“How—how are you and Hunter?” Skye asked, stopping her in her tracks. 

Bobbi shook her head. “Don’t even ask.” She thanked the younger agent again before shutting the door. She checked in on Isabelle, who was still sound asleep, standing in the doorway to watch her little chest rise and fall. A flyaway strand of the girl’s golden hair was blown into the air with each soft breath, and her little face was relaxed and peaceful. When her eyes were closed, Bobbi could almost pretend that Isabelle had been hers forever—that four years ago she’d decided to keep her and raise her and be her mother, that when she looked into her eyes Bobbi saw love and happiness instead of confusion and traces of resentment. But still. Trust.

Trust she might have to break if things went south with Isabelle's parents. 

With a clench of her jaw, she shut the door again and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts before finding the name she was looking for. Bobbi waited with bated breath as it rang. “Hello?” Cheryl Mason asked after a few agonizing seconds. 

"Hello," she replied. "It's Barbara Morse...I'm calling about Isabelle."

"Oh," the other woman replied, sounding slightly wistful. "Oh, right. Of course...I expected your call. I'll tell you anything you want to know."


	12. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi talks to Isabelle's adoptive mother and gets some answers.

Bobbi shifted uncertainly on her feet. "Isabelle...she really loved you. As her parents. And it seems like she loved her life with you. So what—" She frowned, righteous anger on behalf of her daughter boiling up inside her, bolstered by her frustration and doubts about her own situation. "—what gives you the right to rip her away from that? To send her back without so much as an explanation, to just..._ abandon _ her?" There was silence on the other end of the phone and for a minute Bobbi thought she had gone too far, that the woman had hung up. 

"If there was any way we could have kept Isabelle," Cheryl said tightly in a low voice, "we would have." She drew a sharp breath. "My God, we would have."

"What do you mean?" Bobbi pressed. "What are you talking about? What made it so you couldn't keep her? What was more important than Isabelle?"

“Seven months ago, Luke was diagnosed with cancer,” she admitted finally. Immediately Bobbi felt a rush of guilt wash over her. Whatever she had been expecting—nonchalance, evasiveness, just plain neglect—it wasn’t this. “We hid it all from Isabelle—the chemotherapy sessions, the radiation treatment. It was hard to take care of her with him in and out of hospital and me working all the time, but for a while we managed. We were lucky in that after preschool there was a friend’s house she could go to until I finished work. Isabelle did start to notice something was wrong—Luke stopped having the energy to play with her like he used to, to take her to the park or fix her meals; he was only getting worse—but we were paralyzed with fear and couldn’t tell her what was really going on because she wouldn’t understand. Money was very tight from all the medical bills, and with summer coming up we couldn’t see a workable way to raise her because Luke couldn’t manage on his own and I had to work. But even after all of that we couldn’t even consider giving her up, she really is our—like our daughter.” The woman broke off, sounding as if she was she attempting to hold back a sob. “We were counting on Luke’s treatment to work, but last week, he passed away. I don’t have any siblings and my parents passed away some time ago. I didn’t have a choice; I couldn’t see a way I could manage… She deserves better.” Cheryl’s voice trembled on the last sentence. 

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” Bobbi said in a hushed tone. “She was asking for her daddy...does she know what happened to him?”

“No,” the woman replied softly. “I told her he was away on a business trip...I didn’t think it would matter if she knew the truth. Since I was giving her up anyway, it would only hurt her. You said she...she misses us?” 

“Yeah, she does,” Bobbi told her. “A lot.”

There was a choked sob on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, I’m just—hearing that makes me very happy and very sad at the same time, you know?” Cheryl cleared her throat. “Have you told her who you are?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “She’s too young to understand, and I didn’t want her to feel like I was trying to replace you.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Cheryl offered. “I still feel so responsible for her…”

“She wants to talk to you,” Bobbi told her. “Maybe you could say something that will help her adjust to living with me instead? She doesn’t know why she can’t live with you anymore, and I’m not suggesting you tell her the truth, but some sort of closure would go a long way.”

“Of course,” Cheryl said, a hint of uncertainty coloring her voice. “I’ll think of something.”

“Also...maybe you could read her a story?” Bobbi asked. 

“Anything to help,” Cheryl repeated. “Tonight?”

“She’s asleep now—I had to promise to call you in order to get her to calm down enough to do that,” she said. “So tomorrow night? Around five-thirty your time?”

“We’ll be awaiting your call,” Cheryl promised, sounding happy about the prospect. “And the other thing...do you want me to tell her that at the same time? The whole truth?” The tremble returned. 

Bobbi considered it. “No, she’d never fall back to sleep afterwards. It’ll have to come some other time, maybe during the day when she starts to miss you a lot.”

“Okay,” the woman replied. “Barbara, I just want to thank you for this opportunity. I know you’re not doing it for me, but I’m not over giving her up either, and… Well, it means a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Thank you for offering to help, and again, I’m so sorry for your loss. We’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I’ve already got her favorite story in mind,” Cheryl said. “Wait, could you perhaps, if it’s not too much trouble, send me a picture of her?”

“Of course,” Bobbi replied automatically. “I’ll send one to you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” The woman hung up. Bobbi moved the phone away from her ear, breathing deeply before beginning to surf through her text messages, looking for the picture Coulson had sent her that he had sneakily snapped while getting up to fetch more popcorn during the movie. She found it easily, smiling at the sight of Isabelle snuggled in between her and Skye. After her shouting match with Hunter—it was supposed to have been a civil conversation but she’d forgotten that was nigh on impossible with him—she had playfully stolen Trip’s seat on the couch and watched the rest of the movie with them. 

Concentrating, Bobbi deftly cropped Skye out of the picture in the version she would sent on to Cheryl. As cute as the three of them looked together, Bobbi didn’t want to have to answer to who the young woman was in the picture. Likely it would strike her as weird to have this sort-of family taking care of Isabelle day-in and day-out instead of something more traditional, despite the old saying ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ Then she sent it off and saved a copy of the original to her camera roll, smiling slightly. 

“Bobbi,” Hunter said from the edge of the hallway, alerting her to his presence. He’d learned long ago it wasn’t a good idea to try to sneak up on her. Not that he could. 

“What do you want?” she asked flatly, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. “If you’re going to yell at me again, I would remind you that she’s sleeping just past this thin little door?”

“I’m not going to yell,” Hunter told her coldly. “In fact, the only reason I’m talking to you is for her.” He jerked his thumb towards the closed door. 

“Likewise,” Bobbi replied, matching his tone. 

“I want to spend time with Isabelle,” her ex-husband said. If he was trying for ‘polite’ or ‘nice’ he had failed utterly, but at least he was civil. And that meant she had to be too. Somewhat. 

“Is this you asking?” Bobbi asked, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. He opened his mouth as if to retort and promptly closed it again, quite obviously resisting a snarky reply. “Fine, what did you want to do with her?”

“Uh—” Hunter replied dumbly. “Talk?” He lost the battle against his usual sarcasm. “Is this by appointment only now?”

Bobbi closed herself off completely, eyes turning from combative and wary to frosty and shut-down. “I’ll think of something and text you,” she replied evenly. She spun around and had her hand on the door handle to go back inside when a new voice interrupted.

“Hunter, Bobbi—come with me,” May said, walking in from the other direction. She knocked on Skye’s door and after a moment the analyst appeared in her pajamas, stifling a yawn.

“What’s going on?” Bobbi asked. 

May met her eyes, gaze as serious as could be. “Ward’s escaped his brother’s custody. He’s on the run.”


	13. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ward has escaped, and Bobbi has a choice to make.

“What do you mean, Ward escaped?” Bobbi demanded as she strode through the door into Coulson’s office, where Triplett, Mack, Fitz, and Simmons were already gathered. May and Skye followed her in, with Hunter bringing up the rear. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have let him out of his cell,” Simmons said softly. 

"It's too late for that kind of thinking now," the director reined them in. He waited until the newcomers had joined the circle before gesturing at the screen. It contained grainy video footage from some kind of parking garage. One blob in black was beating up the other blobs. Then he took off, walking quickly out of the frame. Bobbi assumed Blob #1 was Grant Ward. 

"How long ago was this filmed?" Triplett asked. 

"An hour and a half ago," May replied darkly. 

"With that kind of time, Ward's long gone," Simmons said. "What about his brother?"

"Christian wants our help," Coulson told them. Of course he did. "Regardless of the fact that Ward's his brother, he's in over his head."

"Great of him to realize that now," Fitz muttered. 

"So now what?" Skye asked. "We're going to find him, right?"

"We're going to try," Coulson nodded. "Mack, I need the Bus and the Quinjet in full working order, ready to go on a moment's notice. Skye, I'll need you searching security cameras, using facial recognition, whatever you've got."

"Ward will be expecting that," Bobbi pointed out. "He's a specialist; he'll know he needs to change his appearance and he knows how."

"I've been working on a new facial recognition software that might be good enough," Skye replied uncertainly. 

"Just do the best you can," May told her. "But Ward's also going to know how to avoid the cameras in the first place. He'll have money, ID, and passports stashed in various cities, if not whole safehouses."

"Fitz and Simmons, this is now priority one," Coulson announced. "You'll be temporarily shelving your current projects until Ward is back with us. I need you going over his personnel files, seeing where he's visited multiple times, looking for patterns. Where he might be headed now."

"But sir, didn't you delete all records of you six when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell?" Bobbi asked. "As part of your going-off-the-grid plan?"

"Our files are still backed up on our hard drive," Skye answered. "It's doable, but it will take a few extra hours to de-encrypt and unzip all of them."

"All of this is great," Mack spoke up, "but what are we going to do once we find him?"

"Capture him," Coulson replied immediately. Bobbi and Mack exchanged glances. 

"Do we really want to take that risk, sir? He's already escaped once."

"He's still our best source of intel on HYDRA," the director said. "We shoot ICERs only. Now, when we do locate him, Agent Triplett, you’ll take point. You were trained by Garrett as well; hopefully you’ll be able to anticipate some of his reactions. Hunter, you'll be part of the recovery team as well. He doesn't know your face yet; you can still maintain a cover." He looked at Bobbi. "I know you're still in your two weeks off and you have Isabelle to think about, Agent Morse, but you know as well as I do that this kind of op would ideally have at least six agents stationed undercover in the vicinity. We have one." Bobbi understood what he was asking, but a single—involuntary—look at Hunter was all the reason she needed to make up her mind. 

"I'm sorry, Coulson. I can't," Bobbi answered. "It's too soon." She wished she could smack the surprised look off her ex-husband's face at her response. 

"I thought you might say that," Coulson agreed. "I did give you the two weeks off. But after that, you're going to need to start making the difficult choices."

Bobbi nodded. "Understood." 

The director dismissed them all to their various duties or to get some sleep and the team filed out the door. Fitz and Simmons left for the lab and Triplett, Skye, and Mack for the kitchens and common area, and Bobbi headed back to her room to check on Isabelle. She was well aware of her shadow. 

"Bob," Hunter called out to her as she approached her door, ready to go inside and lock it without so much as acknowledging him. 

She turned around anyway. "What?"

"I just wanted to say I'm glad you're doing the right thing," Hunter said, "regarding Isabelle. And this mission."

Bobbi opened her mouth to retort—his presumption that his opinion was the  _ right _ one was just waiting to be smashed into oblivion—but found she didn't have it in her. Not with Ward running around free out there, not with the man her daughter called "Daddy" lying in a grave somewhere, not with the reminder that HYDRA was still a threat looming over all of their heads. Reality had set in, merely days after she had brought Isabelle here. "You should trust me to do what's best for her, Hunter. I  _ am _ her mother."

"Then you should trust me to do right by her as well," Hunter replied, matching her tone. "I  _ am _ her father." He paused, both of them staring at one another. "Can we both just agree to that, please? Because I'm tired of arguing with you. If I wanted to do that all day long, I would never have signed those divorce papers."

"Yeah," Bobbi said suddenly. "Fine." She put her hand in the door handle again before adding carefully, "Goodnight, Hunter."

"Night, Bob." He left as she closed the door behind her. Somehow, Grant Ward had forced a truce. Bobbi crossed over to Isabelle's bedside, running a light finger over her daughter's forehead and golden hair. Then she got in bed and turned off the light. 

* * *

Bobbi's eyes opened to the sight of an angelic face leaning down uncomfortably close to hers. Isabelle's breath was warm against her skin as the girl whispered, "Are you awake?" 

"I am now," Bobbi smiled. "What's got you up so early?" 

Isabelle stood straight again, giving a little bounce on her feet. "Did you call my Mommy?"

"I said I'd call her today, not last night," Bobbi replied. 

"But you were out of the room a loooong time," Isabelle told her, illustrating with her hands exactly how long it was. "Did you call her? Is she going to come here? Can I see her?"

"You noticed that?" Bobbi asked, realizing she had to be more careful from now on about leaving the girl alone in the room at night. 

"Yeah, I woke up and you were gone," the girl confided. "But it was okay because I knew you were calling her. Weren't you? You said."

"Yes, I called your mommy," she admitted finally, sitting up and beginning to get dressed. 

"Yay!" Isabelle shouted, a grin lighting up her features. Bobbi glanced at the clock, 7:45 A.M. The majority of the team had had a late night...

"Shhh," Bobbi held a finger to her lips. "The others might still be sleeping. She's gonna call you tonight and read you a bedtime story, okay?"

"She's not coming here?" the girl asked, gazing at Bobbi with some disappointment. 

"She can't, Isabelle," she told her. "But she was really excited to talk to you tonight. She can't wait."

Her daughter smiled again. "I can't wait either!" She tucked her hands behind her back as Bobbi finished getting dressed, shifting from foot to foot. 

"What is it?" Bobbi asked, noticing her odd behavior.

"Thank you for calling her," Isabelle said shyly. 

Bobbi smiled. "You're welcome. Now, let's see who's up early for breakfast, shall we?" She opened the door and let Isabelle out into the hall, where the girl happily trotted on a few paces ahead with Hoppity swinging at her side. 

"It's not early!" the girl was saying. "We got up earlier yesterday! I like getting up early."

"So do I," she replied, moving quickly to catch up. They rounded the corner into the common area and then into the kitchen. "Hey, Triplett."

"Trip!" Isabelle shouted in greeting with a grin. 

"Hey, kiddo," he replied. "Come have a seat." She scampered over to him, plopping herself down happily. 

Bobbi laughed. "Isabelle, what do you want to eat? We've got cereal."

"Okay," Isabelle agreed. 

"What kind do you want?" Bobbi asked, opening up the cupboard. "There's Raisin Bran, Special K, Wheaties..."

Isabelle made a face. "Do you have Cap'n Crunch?"

"Umm..." Bobbi turned uncertainly to Trip, who shrugged. 

"Coulson keeps a stash of Cocoa Puffs behind the flour sack and Skye hides a box of Froot Loops with the pasta," Hunter said, walking into the kitchen. 

"Hi Lance!" Isabelle chirped. 

"Okay, so I guess you have the choice between those two as well," Bobbi told her. 

The girl seriously considered it for a second. "Cocoa Puffs."

"Good choice," Trip complimented her. 

Bobbi pulled a bowl from the cupboard and went digging behind the flour for the desired cereal. "How do you know all this stuff?" she hissed to Hunter as he came beside her to grab a bowl for himself. "First May's alcohol stash, now the sugary guilty-pleasure cereals..." He only smirked back, taking his bowl and heating up some water for tea. Shaking her head slightly, Bobbi set the bowl and a spoon down in front of her daughter and then fixed herself a bowl after putting the Cocoa Puffs back in their hiding place. Hunter took a seat across from Isabelle. 

"So," Trip said as Bobbi came over and joined them with her breakfast, "what's got you in such a good mood this morning, kiddo? Did you sleep well?"

"Mommy's going to call me and read me a bedtime story!" Isabelle said brightly, digging into her cereal. The chocolate had already started to turn the milk brown. 

Hunter nearly choked on his tea. "Your mommy?"

"Yep," the girl replied proudly. "I really want to see her, but she can't come. So she's gonna call instead!"

Bobbi caught his eye and gave a discreet shrug of her shoulders followed by a slight dipping of her head. For once she was glad Hunter could still read her body language as well as he had when they were married. 

He cleared his throat. "That's great, Isabelle. Would you mind if I sat in? I love a good bedtime story."

"Sure," Isabelle grinned up at him. Bobbi nodded—though she noticed Hunter hadn't asked her—and looked up to see Mack entering. She greeted him with a smile. 

"Hey, Isabelle," she said suddenly. "Wanna play some video games when you're done with breakfast?"

Her daughter shoveled the last few spheres of chocolaty goodness into her mouth and smiled at Bobbi with bursting cheeks. "I'm done!"

Bobbi laughed. "Okay then. But you should probably have some fruit first."

"Apple," Isabelle requested. Bobbi agreed readily, going to stand at the counter with Mack to cut one. 

"We do have age-appropriate video games that she can play, right?" she whispered. 

"What, you don't want her trying out Call of Duty?" Mack teased. She shot him a look. "Let's see... We've got Mario Kart."

"Good enough," Bobbi agreed. "I just want her out of the way in case something comes up with Ward."

"Personally, I doubt we'll have to deal with that just yet," Mack told her. "Ward's as good as they come, from what I've heard. He’ll stay in the wind a little while longer."

Bobbi silently agreed. "Still, it can't hurt to be prepared. I have a feeling today is going to be pretty hectic anyway. Everyone's going to be on edge, and they all have real work to do." She delivered the apple to Isabelle, taking a slice for herself. 

"Did I hear someone say Mario Kart?" Triplett asked. 

"What's that?" Isabelle asked, cocking her head.

Trip grinned. "Oh, just you wait. We're going to have so much fun today."

"I'm in," Hunter said. 

"Me too," Bobbi agreed. 

Playing Mario Kart with her ex-husband, daughter, and friend after breakfast. Not something she'd ever expected to be doing. 

But hey, there were worse ways to spend a Monday morning.


	14. Pretty Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team plays Mario Kart.

“You’re sure you’ve never played this game before?” Bobbi asked, looking down at her daughter on the couch next to her.

“Nope!” Isabelle insisted, grinning as she twisted the controller. Bobbi returned her attention to the game, where her little kart was being fished out of the oblivion of Rainbow Road and set back on the track. From the bottom left corner of the screen, she could see Isabelle's kart—she was playing as "the cute turtle-guy" Koopa Troopa—zooming across the finish line. "Yay, I win!" Isabelle shouted happily. 

Yes, a four-year-old was currently kicking their asses at a driving game. 

Bobbi hit the button to floor the gas pedal as she was placed back on the colorful road from hell; maybe she could at least beat Hunter in this race. He was the only one falling off the track more than she was...seriously, why couldn't the edges of the course have bumpers or something? She spotted him up ahead and managed to complete the turn safely this time. After bouncing through yet another turn, she tried desperately to catch up with him only to see the finish line looming ahead. 

"Sorry, Bob," Hunter said, setting his controller down as his kart sped across it. "You're just not fast enough to catch me." He glanced back at the screen. "Wait, Lap 3? Oh, sh—"

Bobbi smirked as her kart whirled by him at full speed, leaving him behind in the pixelated dust. 

A few minutes and many fallings-off later, Bobbi finished in third behind Isabelle and Triplett—who had obviously played many times before—and Hunter in fourth, far enough behind that the game cut him off at the end once his placing was decided. Isabelle just grinned and clapped her hands and selected the next race, one called "Bowser's Castle." With one look at the course Bobbi knew she was done for again. 

"So you know how I was complaining about hitting the cows in that course we first started with?" Hunter asked sometime during their second lap. 

"Hmm?" Bobbi replied, concentrating on navigating the bend. 

"I'd take cows over moats of lava any day," he said, his portion of the screen going black as he fell off the track again. 

"We can do the shopping mall one next, Hunter, is that more your speed?" Trip asked with a grin. 

"Yes, thank you," Hunter quipped back. At Isabelle's insistence they were all playing as characters they looked like, and despite his protests he'd been stuck with Luigi. Bobbi was Rosalina, because, according to the girl, Isabelle couldn't "see her wearing as much pink like Princess Peach." Bobbi laughed and made no complaints. 

They played a few more courses until their gas button fingers were well and truly sore, and to her surprise when Bobbi looked up it was already the afternoon. "I'm hungry!" Isabelle said, right on cue. Hunter and Triplett stayed with them throughout lunch but left after they finished eating. "We have to look like we did something productive for Coulson today," Trip explained to Bobbi with a wink.

"Can we color?" Isabelle asked, draining the last of her juice. 

"We don't have any coloring books, but if you want to draw and then color it in, sure," Bobbi smiled.

"Okay!" the girl agreed happily, jumping up from the table. Bobbi led her to a kid-safe supply closet and pulled out the crayons and paper. Bobbi didn't know when the rest of the team might be taking a break from Ward-hunting to have lunch, so she elected for them to color on the floor of the common area instead of at the table, an adjustment to which Isabelle seemed perfectly amenable. 

"What do you want me to draw?" Bobbi asked. 

Her daughter shrugged. "Whatever you want!" 

She had already started on her drawing, so Bobbi leaned over and asked, "What are you drawing?"

"A dinosaur," Isabelle replied. Bobbi smiled at the thought of a dinosaur drawn with various shades of pink crayon and set to work on her own drawing. Most of the images she had in her head were not of a kid appropriate nature—everything she set her mind to in the last five years seemed to be mission-related—so she choose an innocuous New York skyline as her picture. Besides, New York had a lot of rectangles. Buildings, windows. Bobbi could draw rectangles. On second thought she added the Empire State Building and Stark Tower in the distance. Glancing over at Isabelle's, she saw her daughter hard at work on a spined tail, so she smiled to herself and added a little figure with a small bow and tiny quiver to the top of one of the buildings, small and silhouetted enough to be barely noticeable unless you were searching him out. She added herself on the next building over, facing him.

Now it reminded her of their mission there seven years ago, before Romanoff was part of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Strike Team Delta was formed. The picture needed a little color, so she made it sunset. 

"All done!" Isabelle announced. She held her drawing up proudly for Bobbi to see. Bobbi laughed at the pink dinosaur with purple polka dots. 

"What about dragons?" she asked. "That's a pretty good dinosaur; can you draw dragons too?"

"Yeah!" Isabelle grinned. "Dragons are even cooler than dinosaurs." She put the paper back down on the table and drew two semi-straight lines across it, extending from the dinosaur’s back. "Dragons are just dinosaurs with wings. I'll add wings."

"Good idea," Bobbi smiled, putting the finishing touches into hers. It wasn't a bad drawing, really—for crayon.

"What are we up to in here?" Coulson asked, walking in. His friendly tone told Bobbi that there was no emergency; he really was just checking in. "Hey, Isabelle—I didn't see you down there; I almost stepped on you!" Her daughter giggled, holding up her dino-turned-dragon for Coulson to see. "Wow, that's really impressive. Good job!" She smiled again, ducking back down with the paper shyly. 

"Everything okay, sir?" Bobbi asked, just to make sure. 

"Everything's fine," he confirmed, beginning to walk towards the kitchen. "You two have fun. And don't tell Skye what you're up to or she might get jealous."

"Does Skye want to draw?" Isabelle asked, looking up at Bobbi. 

"She's busy right now, but she'll probably draw some other time with us," Bobbi told her. 

"Okay," Isabelle replied agreeably. "What did you draw?"

"New York City," Bobbi answered, sliding it across the table to her. "Have you ever been there?"

"I don't think so," the girl cocked her head. "Is it big?"

"Very big," Bobbi laughed. "I'm sure you'll get to see it in person sometime."

"Can I have another piece of paper?" Isabelle requested. "I want to draw a cat!"

"A cat?" Bobbi questioned lightly, handing her one. "Why? Dogs are so much better."

"No they're not!" Isabelle protested cutely. "Cats are soft and they go meow."

"You're like my friend Natasha," Bobbi told her, lips quirking upwards at the thought. "She likes cats a lot better than dogs too." Actually, Natasha often compared  _ men _ to dogs, but Bobbi wasn't going to repeat that tidbit to her four-year-old daughter. In fact, she probably shouldn't have mentioned Natasha at all, but...well, Strike Team Delta was apparently on the mind. 

Fortunately, Isabelle didn't seem all that curious about the friend Natasha and was quite content to sit and draw her cat. "Does he have a name?" Bobbi asked when she was finished. 

"Yeah," Isabelle nodded enthusiastically. "See, there's a tag here." She pointed. "Can you write it? It's 'Kitty.'"

"Why don't you try to write it?" Bobbi suggested. "I'll help you with the letters." She was curious to see the girl's writing skills, although she was pretty sure that little kids were lucky if they could do much more than write their name before they entered kindergarten. 

Oh, school. Bobbi hadn't even started thinking about that. But it was still months away before the school year would start; she had time. 

"Okay," Isabelle said uncertainly. 

Bobbi handed her one of the sharper crayons—one that hasn't been worn down coloring in gray cat fur—and said, "The first letter is ‘K’; do you remember how to make one of those?" Isabelle shook her head, so Bobbi wrote one down for her nice and large. "It's just one line down and two diagonal ones like that." The girl's brow furrowed, but she managed to make a lopsided 'K' in the tag. "The next one's ‘I.’"

"I know that one!" Isabelle exclaimed happily. "My name starts with ‘I.’"

"Can you write out your whole name?" Bobbi asked. 'Isabelle' was by no means short, although it did repeat the 'L' and 'E.' 

The girl nodded and managed to write her name at the bottom of the paper with minimal help. Then they returned to 'KITTY,' which was completed at a painstaking slow pace but completed nonetheless. In the hours before dinner, they also added drawings of a bird, octopus, house, and a self-portrait to Isabelle’s collection and she had learned to make three additional letters in the process: ‘H,’ ‘M,’ and ‘O.’ Bobbi had a wolf picture that wasn’t half bad which she labeled Huntress and an unrecognizable sketch of a Quinjet—but hey, those things were oddly-shaped and had lots of parts. 

After washing up before dinner back in their room, Bobbi noticed Isabelle had tucked her drawings away into her still-stuffed backpack, where they stuck out of the top. “Do you want to hang those on the wall by your bed?” she asked. 

The girl glanced uncertainly between the papers, the wall, and Bobbi before shaking her head. “No, it’s okay.”

“You can; it’s totally fine,” Bobbi promised her. Her eyes shifted to the rest of the room, and she noticed for the first time how bare the rest of her walls were. If Isabelle hung up a drawing, it would literally be the only decoration in the room since she took her Star Wars poster down prior to Isabelle’s arrival. A new home was scary enough, Skye had said, without Darth Vader glaring you down while you were trying to sleep. Bobbi had agreed. “Look, I’m putting one of mine up,” Bobbi told her, pulling out a bit of tape and pasting her skyline picture above her headboard. “Are you sure you don’t want to?”

Isabelle still shook her head, and Bobbi reluctantly let the matter drop. 

“Okay, let’s go to dinner,” she said. Trying to ease the slight frown that creased her daughter’s face regarding the drawings, she added, “You remember what’s going to happen later tonight, right?”

The girl’s face immediately lit up, causing an uncomfortable twist in Bobbi’s stomach that she ignored completely. “Yes! Mommy’s going to call. She’s going to read me a bedtime story!”

“That’s right,” Bobbi smiled. She told herself that at this point anything that made Isabelle happy, she should be happy about as well. 

With that, Isabelle grabbed Thor off the bed and bolted off toward dinner. 


	15. Hands and Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle gets the chance to talk with her adoptive mother, and Bobbi deals with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you all see that Black Widow trailer yet?!? If not please go watch it because it's amazing and we've only been waiting for this movie for, oh, nearly _ten years_.

“When’s she gonna call?” Isabelle demanded excitedly. “When? When?”

“Soon,” Bobbi promised. 

“How soon?”

She held out her phone. “See, it’s eight fifteen right now. We're going to call her at eight thirty.”

"I can't wait....!" Isabelle whined, sliding off the bed onto the floor. She scrambled upwards, causing Bobbi—despite the uneasy twisting of her stomach—to laugh at her antics. She popped back up again. "Wait, can we call her now? Mommy says early is better than late!"

Bobbi laughed at the parroting. "But on time is better than either of those. Plus, if we call her now she won't be ready."

"She has to get the book," Isabelle nodded. "But if it's on the phone, how will I see the pictures?"

"I can help," the door opened before Bobbi could think of a solution. Hunter stepped through, carrying a thin, hardback book under his arm that he promptly presented to Isabelle. "This is it, yeah?"

"Yes!" Isabelle nearly shouted, her face lighting up. Bobbi raised an eyebrow but couldn't help but smile as the girl took the book from him and hugged it to her chest. Hunter had mysteriously vanished just after dinner, during which he'd evidently had a conversation with Isabelle regarding the story time she'd said he could attend later. Now Bobbi knew where he had disappeared to: a bookstore. 

Hunter smiled and Bobbi gave him a silent nod of thanks before turning her attention back to her daughter. "What book is it?" she asked, curious. 

Isabelle thrust it forward to show it to her, the book's glossy cover ending up two inches from her face. Bobbi gently moved it back to she could see it properly while the girl impatiently replied, "It's  _ If You Give a Mouse a Cookie _ ! It's the best!"

"I've never read it, but I'm sure it is," Bobbi agreed. "Okay, I'm going to call her now..." The girl gave an excited bounce on the bed before crawling underneath the covers with her new book. Hunter leaned against the wall next to her and Bobbi kept her seat on the edge of Isabelle’s bed as she dialed. 

“Hello?” Cheryl picked up.

“Hey, it’s Bobbi,” she smiled. “There’s someone who really, really wants to talk to you.”

“Put her on.” The joy and anticipation in the woman’s voice was palpable. Bobbi hit the speakerphone button and laid the phone down on the bed face up. 

“You’re on speak—”

“MOMMY?” Isabelle shouted happily, leaning towards the phone. 

“Hey, Bella!” Cheryl exclaimed. 

“Mommy!” the girl grinned happily. 

“So, I hear you wanted a bedtime story?” the woman asked, barely-contained emotions coloring her voice. “I have your favorite right here.”

“ _ If You Give a Mouse a Cookie _ ,” Isabelle said immediately. 

“Yes, that’s the one,” Cheryl laughed. 

“Lance gave me the book,” Isabelle told her proudly. Bobbi glanced at him to see surprise and then delight on his face. “He’s my friend! But he’s really bad at Mario Kart.” This time it was Bobbi’s turn to grin. 

“Okay, are you ready?” Cheryl asked. “If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he’ll probably ask you for a straw…” She kept reading, pausing to give Isabelle enough time to look at the pictures. Every so often Bobbi glanced at Hunter to find his eyes firmly fixed on the illustrations, but a few seconds later she would catch him gazing at their daughter instead. On the third time this happened, he looked up quickly to see Bobbi watching him, and he gave her a small smile. “...And chances are, if he asks you for a glass of milk, he’s going to want a cookie to go with it,” Cheryl finished. 

Isabelle gave a wriggle of joy. “Thank you, Mommy!”

“You’re welcome, Bella,” Cheryl said, again using a nickname that made Bobbi’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Her daughter’s name was  _ Isabelle _ . But beyond that, she had never asked Bobbi or any of the team to call her something other than her birth name. Did she  _ prefer  _ Bella? Was she just too shy to tell them so? Or was it something special between mother and daughter—again with the stomach clench—that Bobbi would be encroaching on if she tried to use it?

“Mommy, can you come get me?” Isabelle asked, bringing Bobbi’s wandering thoughts forcibly back to the scene in front of her. Hunter shifted on his feet, looking nearly as uneasy and helpless as she felt. 

“I’m sorry, Isabelle, you have to stay there,” Cheryl said regretfully. 

“But I don’t want to! I want to go home, with you!”

“Bella…”

“Why not?” Isabelle demanded, nose red and tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. 

“Bobbi, can I speak to Isabelle alone for a few minutes?” Cheryl asked, the strain in her voice coming through almost tangibly. “I think...I think it’s best if we do this now.”

“...yeah, of course,” Bobbi agreed, picking up the phone. Isabelle made a grab for it—desperately, as if in the action Bobbi was taking her mother away—but she was already pressing the speakerphone button again and lifting it to her ear. “I’ll still be in the room, but you’re off speaker now. Here she is.”

“Thank you.” Bobbi handed the phone to a still-crying Isabelle before retreating to her own bed and sitting on the edge of it. Hunter followed her and took a seat next to her hesitantly, as if unsure whether she would yell at him to get the hell off her bed. She wouldn’t.

They looked at each other before looking back at Isabelle, who was hugging the phone tightly to her head and had curled up into a ball against the headboard. Bobbi could barely make out the sound of Cheryl’s voice coming through the phone line, but not at all the words she was saying. “Are you okay?” she heard Hunter ask her softly, and she turned to look at him. 

Bobbi considered her answer for a second. “No.”

“Me neither,” he told her, surprising her with his reply. She gave him a tight smile and did not object as his hand covered hers, just for a moment—not long enough to really mean something, but also long enough to mean everything in the gesture. If she were the type, Bobbi might have started crying herself in relief. She wasn’t  _ alone _ . 

“But…” Isabelle whimpered, interrupting them from whatever sort of moment—Bobbi didn’t even want to  _ try  _ to classify it right now—they had been having. “Yes,” the girl whispered softly. “Yes.” The faint hum of Cheryl’s voice continued for several minutes, with occasional pauses, until finally Isabelle lifted the phone away from her ear, face still streaked with tears. Bobbi immediately stood up to take it from her, only to stop in surprise as the girl threw back the covers and crashed into Bobbi’s legs, hugging them tightly. Slightly bewildered, Bobbi took the phone from her grip and handed it back to Hunter before lifting Isabelle and setting her on her hip. Her daughter’s arms immediately wrapped around her neck and Bobbi held her close, turning to Hunter to give her some inkling of what to do. 

He gave her a half-shrug and ducked out of the room to talk to Isabelle’s mother if she was still on the line.  Bobbi wrapped her arms around Isabelle securely, sitting down on the edge of the bed with the girl still clinging to her and showing no signs of letting go anytime soon.

But that was okay. 

Bobbi didn’t want to either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter! If you are so inclined, please yell at me in the comments about Black Widow (who will cameo later in this fic!) because I need people to scream about this with :))


	16. Cover-Stealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter find some common ground, and Isabelle adjusts to her new home.

When Bobbi looked down again, Isabelle had fallen asleep in her arms. She wasn’t really sure how much time had passed, but based on the fact that she had tingles going up her arm where her daughter had cut off part of her blood supply, it had been a while. She gently extricated herself from her daughter’s now loose grip, shifting her into a position in which Bobbi could carry her safely to her bed. Laying her down gently, she pulled the covers over Isabelle’s small body and tucked her in. 

Only then did she stop to wonder where Hunter had gone. She opened her room door to find him sitting against the wall just outside of it. “Hey,” she greeted him. “Have you been sitting out here this entire time?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “First I was talking with Isabelle’s mom—you don’t mind, do you?”

She shook her head. “Of course not.” When he didn’t appear to be getting up, she sat down next to him. “What did she say?”

“Well, she asked who I was when you handed the phone to me,” he answered. “I told her I was the father.” Bobbi nodded, assuring him that that was okay as she sensed his uneasiness. “She explained to Isabelle what had happened and why she had to stay here with us.”

“Including that her dad died?”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t mention that.” He gave her a moment to process that tidbit of information, or perhaps he was processing it himself. “How’s Isabelle?”

“She’s asleep,” Bobbi answered. “How long was I in there?”

“About twenty-five minutes,” he replied, consulting his phone. 

“Thanks for waiting,” she told him. “And for talking with Cheryl. And for buying the book.”

Hunter gave a slight smile, placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch set her heart pounding, unexpected as it was, but she didn’t flinch away. “You don’t have to thank me for any of this. I was serious about wanting to be a proper father for Isabelle. We’re in this together now.”

She couldn’t help the feeling of relief that washed over her again at his words. “I should head back in,” Bobbi said. “She told me she woke up the other night and I wasn’t there...I don’t want that to happen again.”

Hunter nodded, understanding. “Yeah, I’m going to hit the gym and then go to bed. See you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” Bobbi smiled. “You should make Isabelle some of your weird British pancakes tomorrow. We’ll be in the kitchen around seven, if the previous mornings are anything to judge by.”

His mouth opened in mock indignation. “Doesn’t Isabelle know that you’re supposed to sleep in on days that we’ve got no missions dragging us out of bed?”

She laughed. “No, unfortunately.” They got to their feet. “Goodnight, Hunter.”

“Night, Bob.” 

* * *

Bobbi awoke to someone tugging on her arm. Three guesses as to who that would be, her mind thought groggily just before her eyes opened. To her surprise, it was still dark in her room. As per her expectation, it was Isabelle standing over her. 

“What’s wrong, Isabelle?” she whispered.

“I had a nightmare,” the girl replied, lower lip trembling. Bobbi immediately sat up to give her a hug. The floor was cold against her toes. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Her daughter shook her head profusely. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course,” Bobbi assured her, gently scooting backward to make room. Isabelle immediately let go and curled up on the warm portion of the bed that Bobbi had just vacated, and she pulled the covers over them both. “Better?” she asked softly. 

Isabelle hesitated, then shifted closer to Bobbi so that her golden hair was tickling her mother’s chin. Bobbi laid an arm across her—it felt like the thing to do—and the girl snuggled into her. 

When Bobbi awoke again, her arm was still laying across her daughter and her body was curved protectively around her. Of course, all the covers were on Isabelle’s side of the bed. Bobbi smiled slightly—both Isabelle and Hunter stole all the covers. It was something they had in common between them, passed down from father to daughter. 

As if sensing her mother waking up, Isabelle shifted and opened her eyes as well. For a moment she seemed confused as to where she was. 

“Good morning,” Bobbi greeted her. 

The confusion cleared. “Good morning.” 

“How did you sleep?”

Isabelle smiled shyly. “Good.”

“I’m glad. You can sleep with me whenever you need to, okay? But you are a bit of a cover-stealer, so we’ll have to work on that,” Bobbi teased.

“Mommy and Daddy said that too,” Isabelle told her. “They said I stole all the covers! And that they didn’t understand how because I sleep between them.”

She laughed. “Yes, well, Lance is a cover-stealer too. You can tell him that you are as well at breakfast.”

“I like Lance!” Isabelle said happily. She slid out of the bed and began getting dressed, Bobbi following her to assist. When they both were ready, it was around 7:05 and they headed to the kitchen, Hoppity swinging from Isabelle’s grasp. 

“Hey, Isabelle!” Hunter greeted her with a smile as they arrived. Skye was already seated at the table, but she was the only one there. “Want some pancakes?”

“Yes!” the girl exclaimed excitedly, running over to peek into the frying pan. 

“Whoa,” he caught her around the waist when she was only a few steps away. “That’s hot; be careful. Do you wanna see?” She nodded and he hoisted her up so that she could look into the pan. 

“Those aren’t pancakes,” she told him, looking up at him with scrunched eyebrows as he set her back down on the floor. 

“Of course they are,” Hunter replied. He made the mistake of glancing up at Bobbi, who stuck out her tongue. This was a playful argument they’d had plenty of times during their marriage. “They’re pancakes from England. Do you know where that is?”

Isabelle shook her head.

“Do you know where we are?”

“America!” She lit up.

Hunter laughed. “Okay, good, yes, that’s where we are. And across a big ocean, there’s another country called the United Kingdom. England is a part of that.”

“Kingdom?” Isabelle asked brightly. “Does it have princesses and unicorns and dragons?”

“It has princesses,” Hunter replied. “And a queen. And castles.”

“I want to go there!” she decided. 

“Then I’ll take you some time,” he promised with a laugh. With a glance in the pan, he emptied out the contents onto a plate and handed it to her. “Here you are, mi’lady.”

“Thanks,” Isabelle grinned. She took the plate and scampered over to the table with it so fast Bobbi was afraid she was going to break it. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” Skye offered, leaning over. Isabelle happily complied, and Bobbi walked over to where Hunter was pouring more liquidy batter into the pan. 

“You’re late,” he teased before she could say anything. 

“Yes, well, she had a trying night,” Bobbi said in an undertone. 

Hunter set the bowl of batter down and looked back at Isabelle. “Something happened after I left?”

“She had a nightmare,” Bobbi admitted softly. “Slept in my bed after that. Which was fine.” 

“Can we draw after breakfast?” Isabelle asked loudly. Bobbi and Hunter both turned to her at the same time.

“Sure,” Bobbi replied. 

“Can’t, sorry, I have an armory to sort,” Hunter replied apologetically. Isabelle turned to Skye. 

“I guess just for a little while,” the hacker gave in with a smile. “But I have to warn you, my computer skills are much better than my drawing skills.”

“That’s okay,” Isabelle chirped. When they were done with breakfast Bobbi cleaned up while Skye and Isabelle drew in the next room over, and Hunter disappeared to do his work before Agent May discovered he hadn’t done it when it was assigned half a week ago. Bobbi was just rinsing the pan when Isabelle came running in, holding aloft a drawing in each hand for her to see. “Can we put these up on the walls?”

“In our room? Sure,” Bobbi replied, surprised but happy. Yesterday Isabelle had refused to decorate with anything of hers, and now she was asking to. 

“Cool!” Isabelle raced back into the other room, presumably to continue drawing. 

Skye stepped through the doorway, dusting off her shirt and pants from lying on the rug. “I think I’ll be taking off now—the new facial recognition program is a bit glitchy, so if I leave it running too long without me monitoring it it could crash and we’d have to start all over again.”

“Any luck so far?” Bobbi asked.

“Nothing,” Skye shook her head. “Ward’s good. One of the best. One of the very few testing scores anywhere close to yours and Romanoff’s.”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “How do  _ you  _ know what my score was?”

The hacker shrugged sheepishly. “I might have done a little research into you when you first arrived. But hey, you were coming out of HYDRA.”

“Fair enough,” Bobbi nodded. “Good luck.” She and Skye parted ways and Bobbi headed into the main room. It was empty. “Isabelle?” she called. 

“I wanna put pictures on the walls!” came the faint reply from somewhere down the hallway. Bobbi just laughed and followed her. 

* * *

Isabelle’s POV

Her feet pattered down the hall. Her drawings flapped in her right hand, while Thor the Monkey was stocked firmly under her left. She raced around the corner, excited. She paused as Bobbi's voice came from behind her. "Isabelle?"

"I wanna put pictures on the walls!" she called back, taking off again. Bobbi was fast; she would catch up. Besides, Isabelle knew where she was going.

She skidded to a halt in front of their door, reaching up to grasp the cool handle. She pulled, but the handle only moved downward slightly before stopping. The door was locked. She let go and looked around, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, waiting for Bobbi.

"Hello," said a voice from behind her. She turned to see a man she didn't recognize coming into the hallway from the opposite direction, looking down at her.

"Hi," she replied uncertainly. Who was he? Maybe he was a friend of Lance's or Bobbi's and had just been busy, which is why she didn't know him. The people here were busy a lot.

"Are you locked out of your room?" he asked kindly. She nodded. "That's too bad. We haven't met, but I'm Scott."

"Hi Scott," she replied, watching him curiously.

"I'm a friend of Skye's. Have you seen her?"

Isabelle's face lit up. "Skye's my friend too! We drew together, but then she had to leave."

"Do you know where she is?" Scott asked.

"No," she shook her head.

"How about which room is hers?" Isabelle hesitated. "I want to surprise her, because I haven't seen her in a while."

"I like surprises," Isabelle smiled. She pointed to the room right next to Bobbi's.

"Thanks," he said, walking over to it. He turned back to her thoughtfully. "What's your name?"

"Isa—"

"ISABELLE!" Bobbi shouted from behind her.

She had barely turned to look why Bobbi was screaming at her in that way before rough hands were on her shoulders, an arm around her neck, and something hard pressed up against her head.

"Bobbi!" she shrieked. Her eyes filled with tears, and immediately the hand shifted from her neck to cover her mouth, pressing hard into the bone of her chin to keep her immobile.

"Make a sound, Agent, and she dies," the man above her promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted a cliffhanger, you get a cliffhanger... :P


	17. Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grant Ward has invaded the base, putting all of them in danger.

_ Isabelle’s POV _

He took a step forward from behind her, forcing her forward. Isabelle all too willingly went with him, anything to get closer to Bobbi. She had promised that this was a safe place. What was Scott doing? Was he really a friend of Skye's? Was he going to harm her? Why had his voice suddenly become so scary?

All Isabelle knew was that the object he had pressed to her head hurt, and that she wanted to scream.

A moment later Isabelle realized that all her limbs were still working, and she began struggling in earnest, kicking his legs with her feet and trying to single free with her arms. "Isabelle, don't," Bobbi said in a strange voice. She was staring at her and Scott with wide eyes. Isabelle obediently stopped struggling and promptly began trembling instead. She couldn't help that. 

"Bobbi Morse, I don't think we've been introduced," Scott said. "I would shake your hand, but..." He looked down at Isabelle and she tried to shrink away from him but he was gripping her too tightly. Scott cupped her chin and forced her head upwards, examining her. "She's yours, isn't she?" Isabelle gave a small whine against his hand and he left her head go back to its normal position, hand still clamped firmly over her mouth. He returned his attention to Bobbi. "Don't even bother trying to deny it; I can tell. The golden hair, the look in your eyes...only shared blood could make the  _ Mockingbird _ freeze up this badly." Isabelle had no idea what he was talking about, only that her trembling had nearly turned into quaking with fear. However nice Scott had seemed in the beginning, there was nothing nice about him now. 

"Let her go, Ward," Bobbi said. "And maybe I'll snap your neck quickly instead of prolonging the pain."

"Really?" he asked. "In front of Isabelle?" Scott pressed the hard thing harder against her skull. "Hands where I can see them, Morse. We wouldn't want any surprises, for her sake."

"What do you want?" Bobbi asked angrily. 

"Skye, of course," Scott answered calmly. "This has always been about her. I promised to take her to meet her father, and I intend to keep that promise. Now, go to your room." He nodded toward their door. "Slowly," he added as Bobbi started toward him. Isabelle began to struggle again as Scott backed up, keeping the distance between himself and Bobbi. Once she reached her door, he said, "Cell phone on the ground." Bobbi dropped it. "Open the door." She did, and Scott peered inside. "Go in," he instructed her in that same scary voice. 

Isabelle made as much of a screaming noise as she could against his hand, muffled as it was, twisting and kicking to get back to Bobbi. If that door shut, separating them...

"I'm going to let you go," Scott told her, looking down at her again. "But if I take my hand off your mouth, you have to promise not to scream." 

Isabelle nodded as vigorously as she could under his iron grip. He slowly removed his hand, and the one pressing the hard thing to her head shifted so that he was still holding her immobile. His free hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a tan brick. He fastened something black onto it and then tossed it into their room after Bobbi. 

"Here, I'm going to have you hold this," Scott said to her, handing her a rectangle. "Hold this button here really tight, and I'll let you go."

Bobbi was staring at her fearfully as Isabelle pressed the button, holding it as instructed. "Don't let go of that, Isabelle," she said. 

Scott abruptly released her and gave her a small push into the room. She stumbled into Bobbi's arms, still holding the object he had given her tightly. 

Scott shut the door behind them. 

* * *

_ Bobbi’s POV _

Her heart was thudding wildly as Ward shut the door. She heard the sizzling of a device melting the locking mechanism, but all she cared about at the current moment was getting the trigger—a dead man's switch, she was sure of it—out of Isabelle's hands. The girl seemed too distraught to cooperate easily, and Bobbi's greatest fear was that she would let it go without realizing it as she clung to her. 

"Isabelle," she extricated herself from her daughter's grip, as much as she hated to do so, "this is really important, okay? Keep holding that button down. Can you show me the device?"

Isabelle nodded, holding it out but still keeping her little finger firmly over the button. "Good," Bobbi whispered. "I'm just going to put my thumb over yours and press, okay? That's it. Now, you can let go." Isabelle's finger slipped safely from under hers and Bobbi's kept the trigger safely in the do-not-explode position. She breathed a sigh of relief as she held it, Isabelle wrapping both arms around her and crying into her chest. Bobbi used her free hand to hold the girl close, fear-induced adrenaline still pumping through her veins. 

A roar filled her ears and despite her training her eyes shut tight, trying to block it out. Isabelle had almost died because of her, at the sick hands of a murderous, traitorous, psychopath of whom Bobbi had put her in the way. She had put her in the crosshairs, failed in her most basic duty as a mother: protect her daughter.

Then the Mockingbird told her to get a grip. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, exerting her formidable self-control. Breathe in, breathe out. Look around. Assess the situation. Keep breathing. You’ve been in worse situations before.

Finally calm enough to do some good, her eyes alighted upon the brick of C4 lying on the floor, a detonator pressed into it and blinking. A piece that size…could level half the base. She didn’t even try to get Isabelle to release her as she stood up and made for the dresser, just simply adjusted her so that she was on her hip and her little arms around her neck, the hand of Bobbi’s clutching the detonator also holding her close. Ward had looked for a landed phone in here, but he hadn’t expected her to have a second cell. According to S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol, she shouldn’t. According to protocol, that one should have been returned as soon as her stint undercover in HYDRA was completed.

But she’d kept it, used it as a baby monitor for Isabelle. And that was their saving grace.

“Damn it, Hunter, pick up,” Bobbi hissed quietly as the phone gave its third ring. “I don’t care if you don’t recognize the number, pick up the—”

“Hello?” Hunter’s voice interrupted her as the line connected.

“Hunter, it’s Bobbi,” she said quickly.

“Bob, what are you doing—”

“Ward’s on the base,” she told him. Hunter swore violently. “Tell the others. He locked us in our room with C4 and a dead man’s switch.”

“Us?” he asked. “You and Isabelle?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “He’s after Skye. Tell the others, and get Mack or Fitz down here.”

“I’m coming,” Hunter replied quickly.

“Wait, did you just hear anything I just said?” Bobbi asked. “Hunter, we need to defuse…” He was gone; she could feel it.

“I’m scared!” Isabelle choked out, clinging even tighter to her neck as Bobbi dialed Skye. She didn’t pick up. Bobbi tried Coulson next, keeping a firm arm around her daughter but knowing she at least had a duty to get the message out before attempting to properly comfort her. She left a message on his, cursing the team for being too engrossed in their search for Ward to let her tell them he was right under their noses, about to do something deadly and disastrous. Or maybe they’d already discovered his break-in…that was the best-case scenario for why they weren’t answering their phones.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. agents didn’t work on best-case scenarios.

She called May, and finally got through. “May.”

“May, it’s Bobbi. Ward’s on the base.”

“He’s after Skye?” the older specialist asked, tone dark.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Are you and Isabelle safe?”

“For now,” Bobbi replied. “Mack and Fitz are coming to help, I think. But we’re okay for the moment. He was looking for Skye, and he knows she’s not in her room.”

“I’ll take care of it,” the Cavalry answered. May hung up.

With a small sigh of relief—or at least a bit of eased tension—Bobbi set the phone down, making sure it would ring loudly if anyone tried to call her. She wrapped both arms around Isabelle and made her way back towards the bed. “It’s going to be okay, Isabelle,” she promised, sitting down. “He doesn’t have you anymore, and May’s going to make sure he never will again.” Her daughter hiccupped, face still pressed into Bobbi’s shoulder. “You remember how scary May was when all the syrup for waffles was gone? Well, Ward’s going to be even more scared than you were of her. She’s scary, but the good kind of scary. She’s on our side, and she cares about you. Okay?”

“Why do you call him that?” Isabelle asked finally, shifting into a sitting position on Bobbi’s lap. She was still clinging to her, but at least her face was visible now.

“Ward? That’s his name,” Bobbi replied.

“He’s Scott,” the girl told her.

She was confused for a second before it made sense. “Isabelle, I’m not quite sure how to explain this to you,” she said honestly. “So I’m going to have to treat you like a big girl, okay? You can ask me any question you like that makes you feel safer, but the answer I’ll give you will have to be a big girl answer. Do you understand?” Isabelle nodded. “I call him Ward because that’s his real name. He was trying to trick you into not being scared by telling you a fake one. His name is Grant Ward, and he’s a very bad man.”

“Why did he call you Mo…Mock…?” the girl tried.

Bobbi gave her a small smile of reassurance. “Some people call me that for my job. But it’s not my real name.”

“What does he want with Skye?” Isabelle asked with a frown. “Is he going to try to hurt her? Skye’s my friend. I don’t want Skye to get hurt.”

“He might try, but May will stop him,” Bobbi promised. “She’s very good at her job.”

“What’s that?” Isabelle questioned, looking up at her.

Bobbi paused before coming up with an answer that was both true and simple enough for her daughter to understand. “Protecting people.”

All of a sudden there was a loud crashing sound at their door. “Bob, stand back!” Hunter’s voice called through it. “I’m going to—” He was cut off by a thunderous boom, and Isabelle immediately hid her face in Bobbi’s shirt again. She reacted instantly, putting her hand up against the back of Isabelle’s head and neck to keep her secure and then launching herself into a side-roll off the other side of the bed, her daughter’s body only underneath hers for a split second with the speed of the roll. On the other side, they landed on the floor with a whump neither of them could hear but Bobbi could certainly feel, the hard ground rushing up to meet her spine once and then twice as Isabelle’s body landed on top of hers. The girl gave a small shriek of fright but Bobbi recovered quickly, pushing her off and onto the ground, keeping only one hand on the top of her head to keep her down in case of a firefight. With the other she swiftly reached under the bed, only the remembering that she didn’t keep a gun down there anymore with the introduction of a four-year-old into her life.

Luckily, she didn’t need one.

The the dust and broken down door that had been the entrance to her room stood Hunter, chest heaving and holding a large metal battering ram. He promptly dropped it and ran inside, calling for them. “Bob? Isabelle? Bobbi?!”

“We’re here,” she said loudly, putting an end to his misery.

He followed the direction of her voice and spotted them immediately. “Bob! Isabelle! I’m so glad you’re all right,” he breathed. “I was worried the door would…but I just couldn’t wait…”

Sensing what he needed from the pained look in his eyes, Bobbi picked up Isabelle—who was latched onto her leg, the only part of battle-ready Bobbi she could still reach—and handed her to him. With the commotion she’d started crying again, and now her tears were creating a similar wet mark on his shirt to the one on hers.

“Hey, Isabelle, it’s all right,” he said, stroking her back. “It’s just me; I was just really desperate to get to you and know you’re safe.” She whimpered into his shoulder, but seemed relatively unhurt.

Bobbi stared down at her hands uncomprehendingly. “Hunter!” she shouted in alarm.

He nearly jumped. “What?”

“The dead man’s switch. I must’ve…it must’ve got knocked out of my hand during the…” Bobbi looked around frantically.

“Bob, if you let go…shouldn’t we be dead by now?” he questioned.

The words took a moment to register, and then another to process. “You’re right. But…”

“The bastard didn’t want to blow this place up after all, I guess,” Hunter said. He leaned down, still holding Isabelle, to pick up the dead man’s switch off the floor.

“He didn’t want to blow  _ himself _ up,” Bobbi corrected, the pieces falling into place. “He handed it to a four-year-old; he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t release the trigger accidentally while he was standing right next to her. It was a ruse. He’d never bet his life on the grip of a kid. Or Skye’s.”

“Bastard,” Hunter repeated. “What about the C4? Is that even real?” Exchanging looks, Bobbi crossed over the other side of the room where the brick lay. She squatted down, examining without touching.

“I think so,” she said grimly. “Which means Ward must have the real detonator. He could blow it at any time.” She stood up again. “Did you manage to get into contact with Mack?”

“Called him, left a message,” Hunter replied. “But I just saw him a few minutes ago before I got your call.”

“I’m here,” Mack grunted from behind them. Bobbi spun around to see her friend leaning against the doorframe, the side of his face bloodied. “Where’s the explosive?”

“Here,” Bobbi gestured, moving out of the way. “Mack, what happened to you?”

“Ward got to me first.” The large man bent down and examined it much like she had. “Turbo will be here any second; he just wanted to let Simmons know first.”

“Has anyone seen Skye?” Bobbi asked desperately.

“Skye?” Isabelle asked, lifting her head from Hunter’s shoulder. “Is Skye okay?”

“We’ll find her, Isabelle,” Hunter promised, immediately giving her his full attention again.

“I want Skye!” she demanded, a fresh surge of tears flooding its way down her face. As Bobbi looked at her something within her broke, and Agent Morse receded to let a motherly Bobbi shine through again. She crossed the room quickly, holding out her arms. Hunter understood immediately and handed her over, and Bobbi stroked the girl’s hair as she waited for her to become calm enough to listen to what she had to say.

“Remember what I told you, Isabelle?” she asked, holding her close. “May’s going to protect her. Skye’s going to be just fine.”

“Promise?” Isabelle whimpered.

“Promise,” Bobbi replied. If the unspeakable came to pass, she would have much worse things to deal with than a broken promise to her daughter.

Fitz came running in, followed closely by Triplett. “Where’s the bomb?” Hunter, Mack, and Bobbi all pointed to it. The engineer took his turn to kneel down by the C4 and peer at it. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to take the det—detonator out,” Fitz told them. “It would have gone boom.”

“I was worried it might,” Mack replied. “This is more your area of expertise than mine. Do you have somewhere on the base that could contain the blast?”

The scientist shook his head, pulling something out of his bag. “Once we get it back to the lab we can cut some of it away if we’re careful.” He looked at Mack. “My hands aren’t steady enough.”

“I got you, Turbo,” Mack nodded. He bent down and gently picked the C4 off the floor. 

“Even after you cut it down to the smallest possible size without triggering a detonation—” Hunter began. 

“We’ll still need to get it off the base,” Fitz agreed. “It’ll still have a blast radius of about four meters if Ward activates it.” 

“There’s an abandoned warehouse owned by S.H.I.E.L.D. about twenty miles from here,” Bobbi put in. “It’s empty.” A small silence filled the room as they all looked at each other.

“I’ll do it,” Trip offered, stepping forward to join Fitz and Mack. 

“Are you sure, mate?” Hunter asked. “It could blow at any time, and that’s more than a half hour drive.”

“No sweat,” he replied, although Bobbi could detect the bit of doubt in his voice. He paused, then smiled at Isabelle. “It’s just like Bobbi said—everything’s going to be just fine, kiddo.” He patted her on the head and then left the room.

“Let’s go,” Fitz nodded. He and Triplett left the room. 

They were silent for a moment. “Here, take her,” Bobbi said, giving Isabelle a quick kiss on the top of the head and handing her over to Hunter.

“Wait, Bob, what are you doing?” he asked, holding their daughter against him.

“Going after Ward,” she said flatly.

“You can’t just…what about Isabelle? She’s scared.” Isabelle stared at her with wide blue eyes.

“She’ll be safe with you,” Bobbi replied, opening her bottom drawer and upsetting the false bottom, pulling out her staves and a loaded gun from underneath. “I can’t be Mockingbird and a mother at the same time. And right now, the Mockingbird is needed more.”

Hunter slowly nodded his reluctant acquiescence and Bobbi started on the warpath. Ward had intentionally threatened the life of her daughter…it was time to make sure he never did again.


	18. Run Like Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi goes after Ward, and Isabelle learns some new information.

It didn’t take Bobbi long to locate Ward. All she had to do was follow the sound of things shattering. And the shouting. 

“Get AWAY from me!” Skye yelled as Bobbi rounded the corner. An object sailed through the air and smashed against the wall. 

Bobbi’s eyes swept around the hallway quickly, taking in the shards of glass on the floor and Agent May slumped against one of the walls, blood trickling from a nasty head wound. Ward was on the opposite end of the hallway from her, with a deep cut across the cheek. Most of the glass was on his half of the corridor, so Bobbi assumed Skye had been the one throwing things. As he took a step closer to Skye, as if beckoning her to him, she could tell he was limping from a bullet in the leg—May’s doing, she was sure. There was no way the Cavalry would go down without a fight, and the fact that she had gone down told Bobbi that Ward had most likely had the element of surprise. 

“Behind you,” she warned Skye before her presence could startle her, and she immediately holstered her staves in exchange for her handgun. By the time she got it out Ward had his own trained on her, but his eyes were still locked on Skye.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. 

Skye let out a scoff. “Yeah, right. You lie, Ward, that’s all you ever do.”

“I told you I’d never lie to you, and I’m going to keep that promise. Just like I’m going to keep my promise to take you to meet your father.”

She stared at him angrily. “Even if it wasn’t a  _ psychopath  _ offering to take me to him, I still wouldn’t want to meet my father. I’ve seen his work, his  _ victims _ … He’s a monster, just like you.”

“You don’t understand,” Ward insisted. “He’s—”

“Drop it, Ward,” Coulson said from behind him. Now there were two weapons trained on him, Bobbi’s and the director’s. Ward finally lifted his gaze from Skye and looked between the two of them, his gun arm lowering...to point at May instead, who was still unconscious. 

“I planted a bomb,” he said evenly. “You don’t want to shoot me.”

“Fitz disarmed it,” Bobbi told him, making her eyes steel so as to not betray her bluff. She had no idea how far along the others were with getting rid of it. 

Ward glanced at Skye—glaring daggers at him—Coulson—serious as could be—and Bobbi—wishing she could just shoot him now for what he put her daughter through—and he let go of the gun, dangling it on his trigger finger. “Then I guess you got me.”

“Drop it,” Bobbi repeated, and the gun clattered to the floor. “Hand over the detonator.” He made to reach into his pocket, and she shook her head. “Hands where we can see them.” Eyes searching for any sign of movement, she signaled for Coulson to approach and relieve him of the device. Once that was done, the director wrestled Ward’s hands behind his back and snapped him into S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue electric cuffs. 

Ward looked at Skye. “You can’t tell you’re not at least curious. About your past, where you come from. You’ve been searching for answers your entire life...don’t let our history stop you from getting what you’ve always wanted. A family.”

Skye stepped forward, stopping right in front of him and put a hand on his chest, fingertips barely brushing the fabric of his shirt as if to steady herself. For a moment Bobbi was concerned Skye was falling for his act. Then the hacker punched him in the face. 

Ward said nothing more as Skye stepped away, turning and kneeling besides May. He spit a globule of blood out of his mouth as Bobbi readjusted her grip on her gun and Coulson took ahold of him by the collar, beginning to steer him towards the basement. “Try anything, and we will kill you,” he promised.

“I might just kill him right now,” Bobbi growled. The director shot her a look, but Ward beat him to speaking.

“Relax, Agent Morse,” Ward sighed. “You know by now that your daughter—Isabelle, isn’t it?—was never in any real danger.” Bobbi only glared at him glad that Skye had gotten her punch in. 

Coulson returned his attention to the prisoner after another moment, starting their march towards Vault D and taking for granted that Bobbi would never execute Ward without permission. And she wouldn’t. She knew full well that he was of more use to them alive than dead. She just wished she could. 

It became more apparent as they descended the stairs—the director’s gun still aimed squarely at the back of Ward’s head—that the bullet in their prisoner’s leg needed attending. “Should we…?” Bobbi gestured at it. 

Ward paused, looking at Coulson. “It’ll be good to see Simmons again. Assuming she doesn’t kill me, that is.”

“After we get to Vault D,” he replied, giving him a slight push forward again. Ward acquiesced and turned away again, continuing down the stairs. On the last step, he stumbled a little—and all hell broke loose. 

Several things happened at once. Some sort of gaseous fog began rising from Ward’s shoes. The corridor and all the ones branching of from it as far as could be seen were plunged into darkness. The ever-present low hum of the Playground ceased. And lights exploded in front of Bobbi’s eyes as something hit her hard in the forehead, knocking her down. 

Blinded, she barely managed to get her arms out in time to prevent her head from cracking on the concrete steps. The gun skittered out of her hand, and the world for Bobbi winked out of existence.

When her eyes shot open, she could see again. The fog—both the one in the air and the one in her mind—was clearing, and red emergency lights had clicked on in the base. 

Ward was gone, disappeared into the smoke. Immediately Bobbi wished she had killed him while they had a chance—or at least ICEd him. Intellectually she knew that if Ward was capable of mounting an escape like this he never would have let her execute him. Intellectually she also knew none of them had been carrying an ICER to confront the homicidal maniac. But faced with their utter and complete failure, she berated herself internally for not doing better. For not putting a final end to the life of the man who had placed a dead man's switch in her four-year-old daughter's hand.

Coulson groaned beside her, and Bobbi pushed herself to her feet, stumbling forward just far enough to pull the emergency alarm—as if everyone didn't already know there was an emergency from the sudden shutdown of the base—before kneeling down beside him. The momentary stars dancing across her vision faded, and she helped him to his feet as well, and he surveyed the space around her with the same frustration present on his face that she had felt a minute ago. "Are you all right, sir?" she asked.

"I will be when we catch Ward," Coulson replied grimly. "You?"

"Just a bruised, I think," Bobbi replied.

"Gather the team then, have them meet in my office." He frowned. "Isabelle?"

"She's with Hunter," she supplied. "I can't leave her alone after what happened; can she...?"

"Extenuating circumstances, Agent Morse, I understand," Coulson nodded. "Bring headphones. We still can't risk her overhearing any classified information before she's learned how to keep it a secret."

"I don't imagine she'll want to listen anyway, not if it's about Ward," Bobbi replied with a nod. "Thank you, sir." She took a step forward and almost fell, suddenly beset with wooziness. Stopping, she put a hand to her head. It came away bloody. "Okay, maybe not just bruises."

"Have Simmons check you over first," Coulson decided. "Meeting in fifteen minutes." Bobbi nodded her assent and set off down the hallway, running a hand lightly along the wall to steady herself. At the last second she turned and headed to her room instead, seeking to be reunited with Isabelle and inform Hunter of the situation before going to get patched up. Besides, by the time she reached it, the dizziness had mostly worn off, leaving her with a pounding headache but less of a fear of crumpling unceremoniously to the floor mid-step.

"Bobbi!" Isabelle spotted her as soon as she opened the door, the alarm in her eye fading as she saw a friendly face appear.

"Hey, Isabelle," Bobbi said, holding out her arms. After a moment's hesitation, the girl wriggled off Hunter's lap and attached herself around Bobbi's legs. She hefted her up, situating her daughter on her hip and hugging her tightly.

"Bob, are you hurt?" Hunter asked, standing up and coming toward her to get a better look. There was alarm in his eyes at the sight of blood discoloring her blonde hair.

"I'm going to have Simmons check it out, but I had to see her first," Bobbi replied, gesturing to Isabelle.

"Ward?" Hunter questioned. Their daughter's grip on her tightened perceptibly.

"Got away," she answered curtly. "Coulson's having a briefing in ten in his office." She looked down at Isabelle, who was practically cowering against her, burrowed in as close as she could get, and Bobbi knew she had been right that she couldn't leave Isabelle alone for the briefing. "It's okay; he's not here anymore," she said softly. Isabelle only whimpered and clung tighter. Bobbi swung her gaze back toward Hunter and nodded with her head towards the door.

He caught her meaning immediately, handing her her cell phone which he had apparently dug out of the bit of rubble surrounding the knocked-in door. Bobbi blew some of the dust off of it before slipping it into her pocket. "Yeah, we should probably get going to the lab if we don't want to be late."

"Actually, could you tell all the others you can find about the meeting?" Bobbi requested, grabbing her earbuds off the dresser with her free hand.

He nodded. "Want me to take Isabelle?"

"No, it's fine," she shook her head. Besides, he'd need a crowbar to pry her off in this state. "Thanks, Hunter."

He gave her a small smile before ducking out the door. "Anytime, Bob." She checked to make sure she had everything before putting a hand to her head—that really did hurt. Hastily wiping the blood off on her dark pants, she followed her ex-husband out the door, heading in the opposite direction. 

When Bobbi arrived at the lab with Isabelle still clinging to her neck, Simmons was wringing her hands over a stopped centrifuge. She looks up immediately as they entered, exclaiming, "What happened?"

"Ward."

Simmons eyes bulged. "Ward,  _ here _ ?" She ushered Bobbi over to the tilting exam chair, snapping on rubber gloves with practiced ease.

"Yes, he—"

"Jemma! Jemma!" Fitz burst into the lab, red-faced and out of breath. "Thank God I found you! Ward's in the base! He planted a bomb in Bobbi's room, but Trip's transporting it to..." He stopped, spotting Bobbi in the chair.

"I know, Fitz, I just found out," Simmons told him. "What do you mean, Trip's transporting a bomb?" She looked down at Bobbi, fingers already gently probing the wound on the side of her head.

"Maybe now isn't the time to talk about this," Bobbi suggested, glancing down at Isabelle draped across her. The girl was by no means asleep, but practically trembling at every mention of Ward. "Your former team member is no longer on the base, and everything else will have to be explained by Coulson in the briefing in five minutes."

"Oh, the poor thing," Simmons sighed, gazing at Isabelle with sympathy. "Of course she's scared; I never should have said anything." She paused in her medical ministrations and leaned down. "I'm sorry, Isabelle. But you're safe now with all of us." She looked at Bobbi. "We... _ are _ safe now, right?"

She nodded.

"And did you say five minutes? I never get enough time for these things with you specialist types, always all gung-ho and up-and-at-'em. Honestly, you think I can stitch up a possible cranial fracture and check you for a concussion all in five minutes..."

"I don't have a cranial fracture," Bobbi told her as Simmons began attacking her wound with a needle and some black surgical thread.

"Well, we won't know that until after the meeting now, will we?" the young scientist replied before falling silent to focus on her work. Bobbi sat as still as she could, impatient and not wanting to be late but knowing she had to at least have a short-term patch before running off to the briefing. It felt like twenty minutes had passed before Simmons took a step back and started peeling off her gloves—in reality it had only been seven. "But you don't  _ seem  _ concussed,” the woman went on. “Let's just be sure… You don’t have a headache, do you?"

"No,” Bobbi answered automatically, sliding her legs off the chair and planting her feet firmly on the ground. “Let's make sure on the way.” She rose slowly, knowing she was much taller than the biochemist as at her full height Simmons wouldn't be able to reach her head anymore but not wanting to knock her over. Or have the wooziness return.

The woman made a disapproving noise but followed as Bobbi headed out of the lab and for Coulson's office. "Just a few questions then, Bobbi. Simple ones, just to check for a concussion. What day is it?"

"November 11th, 2014."

"My name?"

"Jemma Simmons, PhD times two," Bobbi told her.

"And S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for?"

This time she shot an incredulous look back the scientist's way before answering. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division." She stepped quickly into Coulson's office before Simmons could ask any more silly questions. The rest of the team minus Triplett had already assembled, all with grim expressions. Glancing around at them all, she went to stand by Hunter. She handed the earbuds to him and after a brief questioning look he inserted them into Isabelle's ears.

"Music?" the girl asked, looking up at them.

Nodding, Bobbi plugged the jack into her phone. "Tell me if it's too loud, okay?" She scrolled quickly through her music to find an appropriate artist, then told it to shuffle through the songs. Isabelle looked around at them all before burying her face in Bobbi’s chest and snuggling in, content to listen as long as she was being held.

Coulson began the meeting as soon as he saw they were finished. "As you all know, Ward paid us a visit."

"Broke in," Skye interjected sullenly.

"Is everyone all right?" the director continued, looking around at each of them but lingering especially on Simmons, waiting for her expert opinion.

"I'll do exams of everyone injured once we're finished," the young scientist assured him.

"Good. Now, I want to know exactly what happened, starting with how the hell he got in," Coulson said.

For a moment, no one spoke. "I was examining Lola, in the garage," Mack said finally. The bloodied side of his face had been cleaned up, leaving only a wounded patch the size of a lime. "I turned around, and he was behind me. Must have knocked me out straight after, because the next thing I know I was waking up in the hall closet."

“So you don’t know how he got there?” Coulson asked. 

“No.”

“Anyone?” the director looked around at them all. “We’ll have to ascertain that later. What happened next?”

"He went looking for Skye," Bobbi supplied. "Tried her room, but she wasn't there and he ended up catching Isabelle instead. He figured out she was my daughter and used her against me, gave her a dead man's switch—which we later found out was fake—and put a brick of C4 in with us. He didn't realize I had another cell phone from my time in HYDRA, so I was able to use that to call Hunter."

"And I called Mack," Hunter added. "For the bomb."

"Bobbi called me as well, informed me of the situation," May said. She looked much better now than she had on the floor. "I went looking for Skye—to warn her—or Ward." Her voice darkened, becoming almost deadly. "And I found him." Everyone waited for her to elaborate—Bobbi for one wanted to know exactly how Ward had managed to knock out the Cavalry—but she was silent.

Eventually, Mack shifted to his other foot and picked up the narrative. "Fitz found me in the closet. When I woke up, I had a message on my phone from Hunter telling us about the bomb. He ran to tell Simmons in the lab—"

"But she wasn't there," Fitz cut in, looking at her.

Simmons was gazing at them all with her mouth slightly open, and at Fitz's pointed look she exclaimed, "I stepped out for five minutes to make a sandwich and go to the loo, and I missed  _ all  _ of this!"

"That's not all," he told her. "Mack and I took the C4 back to the lab to...to shave off the excess explosive before Trip took it out of the base."

"Maybe it was more than five minutes," Simmons amended.

"Where's Agent Triplett now?" May asked.

"According to the GPS in his car, less than five minutes from the warehouse," Fitz consulted his tablet. "But I think it's unlikely Ward ever would have blown us up—he'd risk Skye dying in the explosion too." The hacker looked uncomfortable with the thought of herself being the only thing stopping Ward from blowing them all to kingdom come.

"I left Isabelle with Hunter to go after Ward," Bobbi continued, eyes on Coulson. "He’d found Skye and May was down. Ward had a cut on his face and a bullet wound in his right leg, but he must have been running on adrenaline. And then you arrived, and..."

"We had him in custody, but he escaped," the director nodded. "Used some sort of EMP to knock out the lights and generators and had some sort of smokescreen come out of his shoes."

“Is that why all the lights went off!” Fitz exclaimed.

“And why the centrifuge stopped, ruining a perfectly good batch of B-683 blood samples!” Simmons added, turning to face him. Coulson held up a hand, and the two of them quieted. 

"I pulled the alarm when I came to, but he was already gone," Bobbi finished.

"Which means we're back at Square One," Coulson sighed.

"No, we're not," Skye spoke up. Her arms were crossed and her shoulders hunched—Bobbi didn't think she'd ever seen the cheerful hacker look so miserable.  _ Violated _ . But her voice was strong. "I put a tracker on Ward, before you took him away to Vault D."

"You knew he was going to escape?" Mack asked.

"No, but I knew we shouldn't take any chances with Ward," Skye answered. "Until he finds it, we can get a live location on him to twenty-five feet accuracy. And I know he hasn't found it yet, because..." At Coulson's go-ahead she pressed a few keys on his computer. A window popped up, showing a moving red dot across a field of green with a few lines of gray snaking through it. "He's on the move. A train, by the speed of it."

"Well done," May told her. The director was also looking at her with something akin to pride on his face.

"All right then, team, we mobilize," Coulson said. "Skye, I want you to continue monitoring his location and keep me updated. See if you can predict where he'll get off the train, as that will be our best time to nab him. Cross reference the course with his previous known locations if you have to." Skye nodded. "Then I'll need a team in the Quinjet ready to take him in." Coulson looked around at all of them.

"I'll be there," May said, leaving no room for discussion on the topic.

"Good," he nodded. "Hunter, are you in?"

Looking uncertain, Hunter shifted his gaze from Bobbi to Isabelle, and then back to Bobbi again. Her face was blank but her mind running like wildfire. If Hunter went, then with whom would she leave Isabelle? Skye, perhaps... There was no way Coulson would play directly into Ward's hands by letting her off the base right now. But she was likely also the most dangerous person to be around in this whole mess, since she was the one the murderous HYDRA traitor was after.

Hunter turned back to Coulson. "Yes, sir."

The director looked at her. "Bobbi?" She began to nod, only to feel Hunter's hot gaze burning into her from the left.

"You can't go," Hunter said, probably louder than he meant to. "You can't just leave Isabelle like that."

"If it means catching Ward..."

"Oh, here we go again," he ex sighed, dropping eye contact in apparent disgust. "I told you the mission would come first over her, Bob. The one time I wish you wouldn't prove me right."

"Maybe this is a conversation you two should be having in private," Coulson suggested.

Neither of them paid him any attention. "It's  _ for  _ her that I'm doing this, Hunter!" she shot back. "He threatened our daughter."

"And so no one else but you has the magical power needed to stop the bastard?" Hunter challenged. "Why do you have to go, Bob? Why can't you just stay with our traumatized daughter like a normal mother and take care of her?"

Bobbi stared at him for a moment, lost for words. "Fine. You go."

"Really?" He looked surprised.

"Yes, really. You're right; I should stay with Isabelle." She ducked eye contact with Coulson and May and simply walked out of the office, carrying her daughter close to her chest. From outside she could hear the meeting resume again without her after a few seconds of shocked silence that she had actually  _ walked out _ of a S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing.

Shifting Isabelle slightly so that she had a hand free, she slipped the earphones from her ears, placing a small kiss on the top of her head as she walked. Her daughter's arms tightened around her neck in response, Isabelle resting her head on her shoulder. Bobbi almost headed for their room but remembered its current state of shambles at the last second, changing course for a spare one down a separate hallway. Her emotions were tumultuous at best, so she focused on the girl in her arms.

When they arrived, Bobbi found an empty room that looked almost identical to hers, but with bare walls and no extra bed on the side. She shut the door behind them and set Isabelle down on the bed with her legs hanging off the edge, ignoring her small protests. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised, kneeling in front of her so that they could be at eye level. "And I'm sorry if me leaving before upset you. I didn't mean to make you scared."

Isabelle nodded, then held out her arms. "Hug me?"

Bobbi smiled in spite of herself, wondering if the four-year-old was aware of how manipulative she was being or just really wanted to be held. "In a minute," she told her. "I want to talk about what happened with you first."

Her daughter's lower lip trembled and she shook her head profoundly. "I don't wanna talk.” 

"I know it's scary," Bobbi told her softly, taking her little hands in one of her own but otherwise keeping a bit of distance between them to make clear the severity of the situation. "Isabelle, I know it’s scary and you don’t want to talk about what happened, but we have to—I have to. I need us to be on the same page; I need you to understand some things that...that might be hard for you to understand.” She took a deep breath, Isabelle’s blue eyes staring fearfully back into hers. “I need you to know that I never meant to put you in danger by bringing you here." She stopped, alarmed by the way her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. She wiped them away with the back of her hand before taking Isabelle’s up again, giving them a light squeeze. "I only wanted to do what was best for you, only I'm not sure it was anymore. And I feel responsible..." She gave a slight choked laugh as Isabelle stared back at her. "Are you understanding anything I'm saying?"

Biting her lip, Isabelle shook her head. Her blue eyes were still wide, but she appeared a bit calmer than earlier. 

"That's okay," Bobbi said, wiping her face again with the back of her hand. “I just needed to tell you, that’s all.” She was tempted to go in for a hug—both she and Isabelle sorely wanted one, now—but while Isabelle was calm and attentive and while this all was fresh in her young mind Bobbi knew  it would be best to talk through what had happened. It would be best if they could deal with it now and move on, in order to prevent Isabelle from reliving it uncontrollably—living in a constant nightmare. That she knew from her S.H.I.E.L.D. training regarding PTSD, and from watching a few of her fellow agents go through it. And, for a short time, going through it herself. 

"But there is something I need you to remember. It's about Ward. Scott," she added for clarification. “He’s a very bad man. You ever see that man again, you scream and you run like hell and you find one of the team, okay? Me, Lance, May, Phil, Trip, Jemma, Leo, Skye… You find one of us.”

Isabelle held her gaze for a second before ducking her head. “Mommy said ‘hell’ is a bad word,” she mumbled. Bobbi realized she was scaring her with the harsh tones she was using, but she couldn’t afford not to. This was one instruction she never wanted Isabelle to forget. 

"It is a bad word. It's a bad word I can use when talking about a bad man," she replied. "Promise me, Isabelle."

"I promise," the girl said in a small voice, barely meeting her eyes. 

“Thank you,” Bobbi said seriously, lifting Isabelle up and settling her on her lap after taking a seat on the bed. Her daughter gratefully leaned into her. “Oh, and...don’t run off like that again,” she added. “I’m here, you’re safe now, but… It’s more dangerous here than your old home. If you run off, I can’t protect you.” She looked down at Isabelle’s solemn face and the corners of her lips tugged upwards. “And I really want to protect you. So can you do that for me?”

“I’ll never run away from you again,” Isabelle replied vehemently, burying her face in Bobbi’s shirt. 

She smiled. “That works too.” 

"What did Sco—Ward mean when he said...when he said I was yours?" Isabelle asked suddenly, emerging from her shirt with an expression of confusion. 

The question struck Bobbi dumb for a moment, trying to work out how to respond. "It means..."

"It's okay if you say a big girl answer," Isabelle told her, looking at her seriously.

Bobbi gave her a nervous smile. "Thanks, Isabelle. It means that...you live with me now. I take care of you...you're my responsibility. And that you're sort of...my daughter." Bobbi clamped her mouth shut as soon as she had uttered the words, waiting for Isabelle's reaction. Her heart pounded in her chest; she could feel every nerve ending in her body tingling.

Isabelle's eyebrows furrowed. "Mommy used to call me her daughter. Does that mean...I have two Mommies?"

Barely able to breathe, Bobbi said, "Yes, you could think of it like that. Is that okay with you?"

The girl considered it for a moment before nodding. "I guess." She frowned again. "So...do I have two Daddies?"

Bobbi smiled. "That would be Lance."

Isabelle's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really," Bobbi told her.


	19. Mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter have a talk. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted Huntingbird...I give you Huntingbird.

The team was back. Bobbi could hear the low rumblings of the garage being opened if she listened hard enough—these spare quarters were much closer to it than hers—but she made no move to get up, to go greet them at the door as she was sure many of the rest left on the base would. Isabelle had fallen asleep against her as she leaned on the headboard, and—no, she wasn’t even going to lie to herself. Not after everything that had happened.

Hunter, in the old days, would have called her current actions sulking. Locking herself away where none would come look for her, just sitting and frowning at the walls and ceiling… But she wasn’t sulking. Thinking, yes, but not sulking. She wasn’t the toddler, the toddler was asleep draped over her legs and chest. 

No, this was—

Bobbi’s phone rang, shrill and loud and piercing the silence of the room after hours of nonactivity. She fumbled to get it out of her pocket fast enough, before it woke Isabelle, and was amazed to get it up to her ear without her daughter’s eyes opened. She must have been really worn out by the events of the last day. “Morse.”

“I know you don’t want to talk right now,” May said, “so I’ll keep this short. Ward escaped. We almost had him, but he made all of us but Hunter at the last second and took off. Hunter tracked him to a HYDRA meet in a bar in Boston, but by the time we were able to move in Ward was gone.” Bobbi made a sound of frustration but the senior agent continued as if she hadn’t heard anything. “Ward left us a present you might remember from your time in HYDRA: Sunil Bakshi. We have him in custody, and Coulson wants you to head the interrogation in Vault E.”

“But…” Bobbi began. 

“They’re orders, Morse,” May told her in a tone leaving no room for dissent. “Skye’s already on her way to watch Isabelle.”

“Understood,” Bobbi said finally. “I’ll head down there as soon as she arrives.” The line clicked dead and she leaned back, running her hand lightly over Isabelle’s golden hair. No more than three seconds later there was a knock at the door, and Skye let herself in. 

“Hey,” the hacker greeted her, appearing more than a little uncertain. “May and Coulson want you in—”

“I know,” Bobbi cut her off, gently moving Isabelle enough so that she could stand up. 

“She’s sleeping, so I guess that makes my job a little easier,” Skye attempted a smile. “I’ll take care of her, Bobbi.”

“I know,” she repeated, forcing herself to smile. At the last minute she turned back and moved Hoppity until he was tucked safely under Isabelle’s arm in case she woke up. Though a bit dusty, the rabbit had survived Ward’s incursion. Thor the monkey was still back in their room.

Running a hand through her hair as she shut the door behind her, Bobbi mentally tried to prepare herself for the upcoming interrogation, knowing she couldn’t be the slightest bit distracted during it. This was the best lead on HYDRA they’d had since she helped extract Simmons from it, and she couldn’t afford to blow it. Not by thinking about Isabelle, not by thinking about being a mother… Right now, the Mockingbird was needed again. 

“Bob,” Hunter’s voice stopped her mid-step just outside of the room. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“No time, Hunter, I’m on my way to interrogate Bakshi,” she said sharply. 

“Just a few minutes,” he replied. “I know you’re not okay, Bob—” He stopped as a shriek emanated from the room Bobbi had just left, and their eyes barely met before they both bolted for the door. Hunter got there first and burst into the room, Bobbi right behind him. Isabelle scrambled off the bed and made a beeline for both of them. 

“You left me!” she sobbed, holding onto one of each of their legs for dear life. 

“I didn’t…” Skye said, looking between the two of them. “She just…”

“I’m sorry, Isabelle,” Hunter began, leaning down, but Bobbi interrupted him softly. 

“Let me.” She gently removed Isabelle’s arm from its death grip around her leg and knelt down. “Isabelle...Isabelle… We’re not leaving you, okay?”

“I woke up and you were gone!”

“That’s because Skye needs you more right now,” Bobbi told her. 

The tears slowed, and Isabelle just looked at her confusedly. “She needs me?”

“Just like Ward was scary for you, it was scary for her too,” she explained in a soft, calming voice. “So she needs someone to hug right now, okay? And you’re a really good hugger.”

Isabelle’s frown let up a bit at the compliment. “But why can’t you stay too? Then you can hug too.”

“I need to talk to Bobbi for a stretch,” Hunter replied. “Is that okay? If you need us, Skye knows where to find us. We’ll be right outside the door.” Bobbi shot him a questioning look, to which he replied with a trust-me glance. She sighed inwardly but made no argument.

“Okay,” Isabelle said. “You’ll be right outside?”

“We’ll be right there,” Hunter promised, pointing to a spot just outside the door. 

“Okay,” Isabelle said again. She approached Skye, paused, and then wrapped her arms around her legs. 

Skye smiled, lifting her up. “Thanks, Isabelle.” Hunter ushered Bobbi out the door and then closed it behind them. 

“I see what you did there,” Bobbi told him crossly. “Now I can’t go interrogate Bakshi, because you made me promise to be—”

“Shh,” Hunter held one finger in the air. She looked at him confused. A few seconds later, the door opened and Isabelle’s head popped out. As soon as she saw them she disappeared again. “There, now you can talk,” he said. 

“How did you know she was going to do that?” Bobbi questioned. 

“I was a kid once,” he replied easily. “And don’t worry, Bob—as soon as we’re done here I’ll go inside and keep Isabelle company while you put Bakshi through his paces.”

“Good, then we’re done here,” Bobbi said, turning away. 

He spun her straight back around. “Not until I say we are. You’re not running from this, Bob. I know you’re not okay.”

She stared at him a second. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?” she challenged. 

“Because the Bobbi Morse that’s okay doesn’t walk out of a S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing. Because the Bobbi Morse that’s okay doesn’t lose an argument to me. Because the Bobbi Morse that’s okay would know what’s been going on around here for the eighteen hours since we left, and you obviously don’t.”

“What do you mean, I don’t?” she demanded. 

“So I suppose you know that Coulson’s been carving symbols into his desk and walls and that Skye found a match to these symbols from one of her Rising Tide contacts and that they already went out to investigate  _ and  _ came back with a body that Simmons is currently autopsying in the lab?”

“Wait, what?”

“Exactly, Bob. So don’t tell me you’re fine, because you’re obviously not.”

“Fine,” she said, giving up the pretense. “What do you want to talk about, Hunter?”

“Let’s start with the way you completely abandoned me with Isabelle to go after Ward,” he said. “And then, even after seeing how traumatized she was after the first time, wanting to go again but this time four states away to do it.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“And doing a shitty job of it.” He met her gaze evenly, fiercely. “What about her emotional health? What about the fact that she needs you? What about the fact that you’re supposed to be her moth—” 

“Stop it!” Bobbi shouted, pushing him backwards with both hands, but he came at her again instantly. 

“No. I won’t stop it, Bob, because someone needs to call you on this. And if that someone has to be me—well, maybe it’s fitting, seeing as I am her father.”

“Hunter—”

“Bobbi.”

Her mouth opened and closed. “I just—”

“ _ Bobbi _ .” He said it again, in that damn tone he used to use during the  _ good  _ times of their marriage. 

She bit her lip, hard, the first tear track running down her cheek. “Lance, I hear you.” She swallowed. “And you’re right, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I feel like...like two sides of me are warring inside of me, and whenever one of them wins somebody just gets hurt. When I’m a mother, Ward comes and nearly kills her, and when I’m an agent, she needs what I can’t give her.”

“Bob, that’s not true,” Hunter said softly. 

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I don’t think...I’m scared the Mockingbird can’t be a mother.” He wrapped his arms around her and she entered his embrace gratefully. 

“Of course you can,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re amazing, Bob. Being a mother and being a hellbeast with metal sticks is possible. You can do it. But you have to let me help you.”

“You are,” Bobbi told him sincerely. “I promise, you are.” She stepped back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and blinking the rest of the tears away. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“I know,” he gave her a small smile. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Her eyes opened as he pulled away after just a few heartbeats. All she could do was stare at him for a second. “You just… Why did you…?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, Bob.” She nodded, still too stunned to say much more. “I’ll go relieve Skye of Isabelle now. You should see about Bakshi.”

“Yeah,” she murmured as he turned away and headed towards the door. “Lance, I might...might want it to.” Her forehead creased with the strain of putting her jumbled thoughts into words. 

He smiled. “Good.” Then he entered the room and shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the hallway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm as happy as you are that Huntingbird is getting their shit together! I would love to know all your reactions :)


	20. T.A.H.I.T.I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi breaks Bakshi, and Hunter has a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter, though much of it is catching up with the plotline of season 2 and setup for later events.

“We meet again,” she said as she walked into Vault E. A steel table had been set up for the interrogation, and Bakshi was currently seated at it. His hands were entrapped in metal cuffs and his knuckles were red and raw, but that was nothing compared to the large bruises forming on his face. Courtesy of Ward, she presumed, although it was also possible he came across Agent Simmons on the way down here. If she had been a specialist, Bobbi would have suggested they play some form of S.H.I.E.L.D. good-cop-bad-cop, but in all honesty Simmons simply wasn’t threatening enough to pull that off. Not with someone like Bakshi.

Bobbi would just have to break him on her own. 

“What, are we not talking?” Bobbi asked, cocking her head at him as she sat down. “From what I remember, that was something of a rare occurrence at HYDRA. You were always keeping me up to date on your little pet projects." 

Bakshi simply gave her a tight-lipped smile and otherwise didn't react to her words, not that she'd expected him to. She made a show of getting comfortable in her seat and setting her full water bottle on the edge of the table, not-so-subtly indicating to him that she was in for the long haul. Cold, dry air from the ventilation system lightly floated past the back of her calves, slowly bringing the room temperature down to a brisk fifty-five degrees. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you without your tie," Bobbi continued in that same nonchalant voice, eyeing his blue jumpsuit. When he still didn't respond, she smiled. "Okay, I guess we're done with the small talk then." Bobbi leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. His expression remained unchanged. "I want to know what HYDRA's planning." His eyes simply glittered at her, so she broke the seal on her water bottle and took a drink. "They can't do anything for you anymore, Bakshi. As far as HYDRA is concerned, you're a liability." 

She capped the bottle and set it back on the table. "If you think they're going to rescue you, you're sorely mistaken. You're not that important to them. You're not vital to their goals. You're disposable, Bakshi. On the off chance they did send someone...it would be someone like me, an enforcer: someone whose mission would be to ensure you didn’t talk. Your best option now is to tell me everything I want to know." 

He just stared back at her. Bobbi didn't let the silence go on too long before pushing her chair back and standing up. "I'll be back in a few hours, when you've changed your mind." Then she exited the room, leaving her water bottle on her side of the table, just out of his reach. 

May was waiting for her outside. "How'd it go?"

"I'm letting him refrigerate a while," Bobbi replied. "After a few hours, maybe his tongue will loosen. The passage of time will wheedle away at his conviction that HYDRA will come for him, and there was no way he was going to turncoat with me there goading him toward it right away."

May nodded. "And the temperature?"

"Just a little trick I like to use to make the time pass slower," Bobbi smiled. "I'll try him again in a few hours, press the whole you-owe-them-nothing issue."

"Sounds good," the specialist agreed. "Simmons is about to debrief us on her autopsy findings. As a biologist, I'd like you to listen in."

Bobbi nodded, following May up to the lab. Skye and Coulson were already there waiting for them. Simmons pulled the sheet back on the body as soon as they got within three feet, and Bobbi ignored the autopsy smells that suddenly assaulted her nose with the movement. Frowning at the sight of the body—grotesquely carved with strange lines and circles, practically ripping through skin and flesh—she looked to the young biochemist for an explanation. 

“The cuts were all quite deep,” Simmons acknowledged them uneasily, “but the cause of death was cardiac arrest.” Skye gave her a questioning look, but Bobbi understood the grim meaning behind Simmons’ words. “She died from shock due to the pain, not from the wounds,” the scientist clarified. “Very common in this type of ritualistic murder.”

“Ritualistic?” Skye asked. 

“It has all the characteristics,” Simmons nodded. “The cuts are very precise, and the killer continued to carve on her long after she died, as if there were some need to complete the work. My hunch is that it wasn't the first time, either.” She glanced between Coulson and May. “It's also not the first time we've seen these carvings. They're the same ones Garrett and...Garrett was making, correct?”

“That’s correct,” May said curtly. Bobbi glanced at Coulson, but he didn’t say anything. She supposed the whole team knew by now about the symbols he’d been compelled to carve on the walls, but it seemed to be a sorer subject than Bobbi had originally picked up on.

“Well, I’m still waiting for their bloodwork to come back, but something tells me based on these carvings and the symbols in the paintings of the victim that one or more likely both of them had GH-325 in their blood,” Simmons said. “Just like you and Skye do, sir.”

“I’m well aware of that, Agent Simmons,” Coulson told her. “How long until the bloodwork is done?” 

“No more than half an hour,” she informed him. 

Skye bit her lower lip, then turned to the director. “There’s always...the memory machine.” There was silence as the four original team members exchanged glances, leaving Bobbi feeling the odd one out. 

“Memory machine?” she asked. 

“Raina used it on Coulson back before HYDRA fell, and he remembered some of what he went through during the T.A.H.I.T.I. treatment,” May answered, the cold tone of her voice demonstrating how much she  _ did not _ like this idea. She looked at Coulson. “The doctors buried those memories for a reason, Coulson. I don’t think it’s a good idea to dig up memories that have driven people like Garrett and our killer insane when your own compulsion has only been getting worse.”

Skye shifted on her feet. “Maybe she’s right, sir… It’s a bad idea. Hell, in the history of bad ideas, it’s years ahead of most everything.”

“Trying to bring dead agents back to life using alien blood blows everything else away,” Coulson replied. He looked at May. “I see your point, I really do, but I know the answers are in my head somewhere, locked away. We have to catch the man responsible for this, especially if he really did go through the T.A.H.I.T.I. treatment and is now murdering S.H.I.E.L.D. agents because of it. He may even come after us, and we don’t even know who they were or how to locate them or even how many patients there were.”

“How dangerous is this machine?” Bobbi asked, looking around at all four of them. 

“Last time he was in it, he nearly died,” Simmons admitted. 

“I’m doing it,” Coulson said, not even a shred of doubt left in his voice. “If going back into the machine saves even one life, then it’s worth the risk. Simmons, get Fitz and have him pull it out of storage and prep it for use.”

“Yes, sir,” Simmons replied. 

May stared at him hard and long for a minute, with the rest of them just standing there silently. Her stance unnerved even Simmons from moving, despite the direct order. “If you’re going in that thing, we’re going to be monitoring you very closely,” the senior specialist said finally. 

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise,” Coulson nodded. “Simmons, Fitz.”

“Right,” the younger woman ducked her head, heading out of the lab. 

The director turned to Skye. “I’m going to need you to be my anchor in there; keep me focused on the task. May, you and Mack can help if something goes wrong.”

“Help?” Skye asked. 

“Hold me down,” Coulson clarified grimly. “Bobbi, while the rest of us are doing this, I need you to keep working Bakshi and be in charge of base security. We’ve been on high alert since Ward broke in, and we will be until we catch him again.”

“Understood, sir,” Bobbi nodded. She wasn’t sure whether to feel glad she wasn’t following through on all this alien-blood stuff or whether she was just going to be missing out on all the action. Then again, she wasn’t supposed to be  _ in  _ any action right now—Isabelle was most important. 

They all dispersed to their respective duties, and she headed upstairs to Skye’s workstation, where she could check the feed of all the security cameras at once. Once she had ascertained none of them were running on a loop using a little device Fitz had invented that moved a small mechanical arm across the sensor upon command, she checked all of the perimeter alarms and even went through the last few hours of security logs, killing time until enough had passed that she could go pay Bakshi another visit. She ignored the desire to go and see Isabelle for a few minutes before resuming her interrogation—she’d only been away from her for a little over two hours, and she knew from the camera feed that she and Hunter were currently having some father-daughter bonding time playing with Hoppity in the lounge. She didn’t want to interrupt that.

She also knew he was carrying an ICER tucked into his waistband, and somehow that made her feel safer about the whole thing.

When it was time for her to back to Vault E, she took a moment to compose herself before standing up and walking down the stairs. The same rules applied as last time. No thinking about Isabelle. No thinking about Hunter. No thinking about the agent whose safehouse she’d accidentally given up to Bakshi. Just the mission.

Bobbi was happy to find the temperature of the room had significantly decreased since she had started the interrogation process. Her subject looked up as she entered, the posture of discomfort and boredom leaving him as she pulled out the chair across from him. “I want to know what HYDRA’s planning,” she repeated. “And the names of its top leaders besides Whitehall, and the locations of their bases.”

Bakshi’s lip curled. “Anything else?” Bobbi hid her own smile at having gotten him to speak. That was the crucial first step—and crucial  _ mis _ step on the part of the interrogatee—of any investigation. That was what allowed them to argue, to debate. That was what allowed him to eventually slip up. That was what would allow Bobbi to win. “We grow stronger every day while S.H.I.E.L.D. clings desperately to a world it no longer understands,” Bakshi continued talking.

A deep sense of satisfaction filled her. Go time. 

* * *

“Here you are,” Bobbi said, handing May a white S.H.I.E.L.D. file folder. “Transcript’s in there if you want to look at it, but the most important bits I summarized on a separate page.”

“Anything useful?” the specialist asked, taking the folder.

“I think Bakshi slipped up,” Bobbi nodded. “Something was off in there...he made it sound like Whitehall and Red Skull knew each other. Personally.”

“Which shouldn’t be possible, given that Red Skull died in the ‘40s,” May nodded. “I’ll have the team look into it in the old SSR files.”

“How’s Coulson?” she asked.

“He’s…” May paused. “He says he’s fine. He discovered the name of another T.A.H.I.T.I. patient, and he, Skye, Mack, and Triplett are gearing up to bring him in before our killer gets to him too.” She gave her a tight-lipped smile, holding up the file folder. “I’ll have FitzSimmons start working on this. You should take a break, spend some time with Isabelle.”

“Will do. Thanks, May.” Bobbi turned and left the room, heading for the lounge. Hunter and Isabelle were nowhere to be found, so she went to their makeshift room instead. 

The sound of high-pitched laughter emanated from behind the closed door, and Bobbi smiled as she pushed it open. “You’re back!” Isabelle squealed, leaping off the bed to engulf her legs in a bear hug. 

“Yes, I am,” Bobbi grinned, lifting her up. “How are you? Were you good for Lance?”

“Very good,” Isabelle nodded vigorously. “He gave me ice cream and now he says I’m bo...bou…”

“Bouncing off the walls,” Hunter supplied, plucking her out of Bobbi’s arm and dropping her onto the bed. He tickled her, eliciting that high-pitched laughter Bobbi had heard earlier. “Yes, you are!”

Bobbi smiled, taking a seat on the bed. Hunter let up on his tickling and Isabelle scrambled away from him, hiding on the other side so that only the top of her golden head was visible. “So I take it things went well?” she asked him quietly. 

“You can’t get me here!” Isabelle shrieked, popping her head up for a brief second to stick out her tongue before promptly disappearing again. 

Hunter crouched at the end of bed like an animal ready to pounce. “Come out, come out, Isabelle!” he called in a playfully sinister voice. He glanced at Bobbi. “Yeah, everything’s great,” he replied in a low voice. “Only one question, though: why is she all of a sudden calling me ‘Daddy’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that ending ;) Would love to hear from you all!


	21. Inspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter face another hurdle in the adoption process.

“She’s what?” Bobbi asked in a hushed voice. 

“You can’t reach me!” Isabelle called again, making a face at Hunter. 

“Called me ‘Daddy’!” repeated Hunter before he dived into a barrel roll across the bed towards their daughter. She shrieked happily and disappeared under it. A second later she reappeared and bolted for Bobbi’s legs, hugging them tightly with a fearful look on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, and Hunter stood up from the bed with a similar concerned expression. 

“There was a spider!” Isabelle said, and the two adults exchanged glances and then started to laugh. “‘S not funny!” she told them reproachfully. 

Bobbi was the first to sober. “Sorry, Isabelle, we know it’s not,” she said. “Was it a big spider?” The girl nodded. “Well, even big spiders have a right to live too, so let’s just leave him alone. There’s no reason to be scared of him—”

“I’m not scared!” 

She smiled. “You’re not?”

“No,” Isabelle said firmly. Then: “But it was right by my face!”

“I think you were invading  _ its  _ territory, not the other way around,” Hunter laughed, coming around to their side of the bed and extricating her from Bobbi’s legs. He lifted her up so she was almost seated in his arms, facing them both. “Let’s just stay out from under the bed from now on, shall we?”

“Okay,” Isabelle agreed. She twisted so that she could wrap her arms around his neck. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “It’s almost dinnertime, but I don’t think anyone’s started cooking yet.”

"How does noodle casserole sound?" Bobbi asked Isabelle. 

Her daughter's brow furrowed. "What is that?"

"Well, I think you'll like it," she smiled. She returned her gaze to Hunter. "We can make enough for everyone and then just see who shows up when it's ready. They'll have to eat sometime."

He nodded his agreement and shifted Isabelle's weight so that he could open the door. The three of them headed to the kitchen and Bobbi got out the necessary pots and pans while Hunter provided one for Isabelle to play with. She promptly began banging the pot and its lid together. 

"Great choice on toys," Bobbi told Hunter as he joined her at the counter, yelling to make herself heard. 

"Well, if she had any other toys besides the two stuffed animals..." Bobbi looked back to see Thor the monkey and Hoppity the rabbit now sitting in the pot as the four-year-old continued to make as much noise as she could.

"We haven't had a chance to go shopping yet," Bobbi replied with a sigh. "We'll get to it." She looked back at Hunter's face. "Oh, you're gonna spoil her rotten, aren't you?"

"I do have four years to make up," he pointed out. 

She shot him a glance, biting back a sharp retort. But all she said was, "So do I."

He gazed back at her and then gave a small nod of his head before gesturing back at Isabelle. "I'll go see what I can do about that." 

Bobbi smiled as she filled the a pot with water at the sink, then set it on the stove and turned on the burner. While she waited for it to heat up, she looked back at the two of them. Hunter was trying unsuccessfully to wrestle the pot back from Isabelle, who thought keeping it from him was a hilarious game. Somehow she won—probably from Hunter's fear of accidentally making her fall off the chair and hurting herself—and he admitted his defeat by presenting her with a wooden spoon from one of the drawers. He rapped it against the pot lid, which emitted a dull clanging sound. Quieter, but not  _ quiet _ .

"See, this is much more fun," Hunter told her, handing her the spoon. She promptly banged down on the lid with it as hard as she could, resulting in a sound not much better than what had come before. 

Bobbi shot him an amused glance, but her ex-husband ignored her, merely setting his jaw and getting back to work. 

"But, you wanna see something really cool?" Hunter asked Isabelle, stilling her movements for a second. 

"What?" the girl cocked her head to the side cutely. 

"Watch this," Hunter said, taking the pot lid and turning it over so that it was balancing on its handle. Then he spun it as hard as he could and it took off like a top, circling round and round. Isabelle watched it with fascination until it stopped. 

"I wanna try!" she demanded, taking hold of it. Hunter happily obliged her, as spinning the lid made much less noise than hitting it, adjusting her grip and guiding her movement. The lid spun out again, albeit more slowly and more wobbly than last time, and Bobbi smiled at the sight. 

"Your pot's about to boil-over there, Bob," Hunter told her without looking up. She jumped, returning her attention to it. He was right. 

"Thanks," she said, uncovering it and turning the heat down. She put in the noodles and got out the frozen cheese to thaw a bit before she needed it as well as readied a jar of spaghetti sauce. When the noodles were cooked she drained them and put them in a casserole dish, mixing in the sauce and spreading some cheese over the top. 

Hunter came up next to her as she put it in the oven, a little triumphant grin on his face. "Yes, yes, you got her to quiet down," Bobbi teased with a roll of her eyes. "Congratulations."

"You kidding?" he asked in an equally serious—that is, not at all—voice. "I saved this entire base from unbearable clamor and pierced eardrums."

Just then, Isabelle got bored with spinning and reverted back to banging. Bobbi tried and failed not to smile. 

"Well, I guess it couldn't last forever," he sighed. "Why don't I go round up anyone I can find for dinner?"

"Good idea," Bobbi laughed. "And take her with you."

Hunter made a face. "I was going to leave her with you."

Ducking down to check the casserole, Bobbi replied, "I know." 

He sighed, walking back over to the table. "Hey Isabelle, you wanna come with me to go get people for dinner? You know, Trip, Jemma, Mack, Skye..." She nodded profusely at the names he listed, jumping up to take his hand with Hoppity and Thor swinging at her side. 

When they returned, Bobbi was surprised to see the entire team following with those who went apparently back from their mission. From the slightly drawn look on Skye’s face, she couldn’t quite tell if it had gone well or not but decided not to ask. 

She had just pulled the casserole out of the oven and was starting to serve it up as they all sat down. Skye and Simmons moved to help her but she waved them off, and they went to distribute glasses and silverware instead. Trip brought around a jug of milk and other drinks while Hunter got Isabelle situated, trying in vain to convince her that keeping Thor and Hoppity at the table with her was risking getting red sauce on them and that then Bobbi wouldn't have a seat. 

Only the second argument seemed to hold any sway with her. "They can sit on our laps!" Isabelle chirped happily in reply. Hunter just gave up and handed her a napkin to drape over the top of Hoppity's head. 

The last plates Bobbi set on the table before sitting down were her own and Hunter's. "This smells so good," Skye told her, taking a deep whiff. They all dug in as soon as the food had cooled down enough. "You and Hunter did a great job, Bobbi." 

"I cooked. Hunter just did his best not to burn anything," Bobbi teased. 

"Hey! I kept a pot from boiling over, remember?" he said indignantly. 

Skye laughed. "That's not cooking."

"Do you think we'll get anything more from Bakshi?" May asked. 

"Not really," Bobbi shrugged. "He's a true believer of the worst kind. I would make a permanent home for him in Vault E. I'll keep working him, but... I'm not hopeful. We're lucky to have gotten what we did."

"Ugh," Simmons made a face. "Another bogey in the basement."

"Let's talk about something happier," Skye said. They all looked at her. Today hadn't exactly been high on the list of happy ones by far for most of them. “Come on, we need some lightness in our lives. I don’t know, let’s each tell a story from our childhood or something. The shop talk can wait.” Everyone was silent before good-natured Trip finally broke it. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time my grandma invited us over for dinner but I forgot to tell my momma she was supposed to make the Sampson-family-traditional chocolate cream pie?” he asked. 

“No,” Skye replied, gazing at him gratefully.

“Well, my grandma called when she wasn’t home so I picked up the phone. She gave me the message to pass along to my momma about the whole family coming over to her place, but then my friend Jimmy came over with the news that a new issue of our favorite comic came out,” Trip began. “By the time we got back, I didn’t remember anything about the call. I didn’t remember about the gathering until the day of, and when I told her. She flipped out, and it was too late to make the pie so we had to show up without it. After that, my grandmother never asked my momma to bring anything again no matter how much she begged her." Everyone smiled at the end of the story, more from the fond way Trip talked about the two women in his family than the humor of the story itself. 

"When I was little I tried making my own peanut butter," Skye offered. "I took out peanuts from the cupboard of one of my foster parents' houses and butter from the top shelf of the fridge...but I was too short to reach, so I had to use a ruler to fish it out. The butter slipped and got all over the floor. When my foster mother found me she nearly fell on her butt trying to reach me." They all laughed. 

"You can make your own peanut butter?" Isabelle asked. 

"No, that's the point," Bobbi shook her head with a smile. 

"When I was a kid, I microwaved a fork once on accident," Mack revealed. "Almost melted our entire cabinet because no one realized."

"When I was a kid, dinosaurs roamed the Earth," Coulson said to make Isabelle laugh. 

“I microwaved a fork once too,” Fitz cut in. “In the lab.” He shrugged. “But I just wanted to see what would happen.” 

“Leopold Fitz!” Simmons slugged him in the arm. “You told me that lab accident was because of my staphylococcus nimonuralis! I spent six weeks of research trying to figure out why micro-waves being at ten-to-the-negative-seven hertz would cause my bacteria to explode!”

“Yeah sorry, Jemma,” Fitz replied guiltily. 

She let out a huff in response, turning away from him. 

"My family had a dog when I was growing up," Bobbi volunteered next. "One night we’re having her favorite food—sausages—and she pulled the entire table cloth off the table to get to them."

"Can we get a dog?" Isabelle asked. 

"Sorry, Isabelle, but no," she shook her head. The corners of her mouth curved upwards slightly as she said it. 

"But dogs are fun!"

"And hard to take care of," Bobbi told her gently. 

"I would help!" Isabelle petitioned. 

"Maybe when you're older," Hunter replied, and Bobbi shot him a look. "I said maybe!"

Her phone rang and Bobbi pulled it out of her pocket reflexively. She stared at the caller ID for a second.  _ Delilah Brooks, Mirwood Adoption Agency. _ "Excuse me, I need to take this," she said, standing up and heading out of the room without looking up. Once out in the hall, she took a deep breath and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Barbara Morse?" Delilah asked. 

"Yes, this is she," Bobbi confirmed. 

"All right, good. How's it going with Isabelle?" the woman asked cheerily. 

"Pretty well," Bobbi smiled, though her heart was pounding. 

"Great!" Delilah said. "The reason I called is that I was thinking it might be a good idea for her social worker to come for a visit soon. That would allow Isabelle's case with child services to be closed permanently. Is that something you would be interested in doing?"

"Yes," Bobbi answered immediately. There were very few things she wanted more than to finish with the adoption agency—with the uncertainty—once and for all. "But I'll have to check with my schedule to see when would be a good time."

"That's perfectly all right," Delilah replied. "Her social worker's name is Janet Marchese, and she'll be in your area for the next couple weeks visiting homes, although the latter part of that is already pretty booked. I'll give you some time to figure out a good day with you and we can schedule it."

"Sounds good," Bobbi agreed. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," Delilah said. "I'm glad Isabelle's found her home. Give me a call back whenever you’re ready.”

“I will, thanks,” Bobbi told her. “Bye.”

“Bye!” With the click of the line terminated Bobbi felt like throwing it against the wall. They didn’t need this right now, this kind of complication. Between Ward, the alien symbols, the grisly murders, HYDRA… It was too much all at once. There was no way in hell they could pass an inspection like this, especially as she suspected Isabelle would have to speak to the social worker on her own. With her recent trauma, not only could Bobbi not be sure she wouldn’t describe the incident to the woman under a question such as “Do you feel safe here?”, she couldn’t even be sure that Isabelle would be willing to be alone with a stranger for any length of time. How were they supposed to do this?

Every time Bobbi thought she finally had a handle on this. Every time they made any real progress. Every time something good finally happened.  _ Every time.  _

And now this person, someone none of them knew, was going to walk in with no context and judge whether she was doing it right. The context was classified. Hell, their lives were classified.  _ Isabelle’s very birth _ was classified in Bobbi’s S.H.I.E.L.D. file. And to the outside world, S.H.I.E.L.D. was akin to a terrorist organization. And disbanded. And no longer existed. 

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. If this was what parenting was going to be like, what the hell was she doing with her life? Even though Hunter was on her side now, helping her… She still wasn’t sure she could do it. Being Isabelle’s mom was something that she hadn’t even let herself dream of after she gave her up, but somehow the girl had ended up back in her life, relying on her for food, shelter, love…to keep her safe.

Damn it, she was going to pass the social worker’s inspection whether she was sure she could do it or not. Bobbi didn’t have a choice. Isabelle was hers now—her child, her daughter, her responsibility. They could figure this out. As her own mother used to tell her, there was always a way if one looked hard enough, in this case a way not to put the base in danger of outside discovery and convince the social worker that Isabelle was being taken care of properly and despite the custody turmoil was now set to live a normal life.

For that perspective, the answer came to her rather easily. They would have to leave the base.

Bobbi turned on her heel and headed back into the kitchen, nearly rejoining the team at the table before realizing most everyone was already done. Instead she helped Trip ferry plates to the sink instead. “Everything okay?” Mack asked, coming up behind her with the casserole dish.

“Yes, fine,” she replied with a nod. “Who’s doing dishes tonight?”

“Well, you and Hunter cooked and everyone else has alien-related work to do, so Trip and I were thinking we would,” Mack answered, and Triplett nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, guys,” Skye said, her tiredness apparent in her voice.

“Actually, Trip, could you take Isabelle for a bit?” Bobbi asked. Her unexpected request caused every head to turn towards her, no one’s as fast as Hunter’s.

“Sure,” Triplett agreed readily. “Plus, maybe Isabelle will want to help out in the kitchen too.” He turned to Isabelle, giving her a questioning look.

The girl considered it thoughtfully for a second. “Will I get wet?”

Trip laughed. “Maybe.”

“Okay!” Isabelle grinned.

Bobbi kissed the top of her head before giving her a little shove towards him. “Have fun. You’ll be perfectly safe with Trip, and we’ll be right back, okay?” The girl gave her a smile before running over to him and starting to tug on his shirt.

“I want a pan!”

Smiling at the noise level about to ensue, Bobbi turned to Coulson and May. “Can I talk to you two in your office?” she asked. Hunter stood up as well, following the three of them.

Once they had arrived and sat down, May spoke first. “I assume this is regarding the phone call you received during dinner?”

"Yes," Bobbi nodded. "The adoption agency called. They—"

"Do they want her back?" Hunter sprang up. "Because we can't do that, Bob, you can't just introduce me to her and then taker her away again! She belongs with us! They can't do this!"

"Hunter, they're not demanding get back," she told him. "It's nothing like that."

"Oh," he said, breathing quickly from his outburst. "Oh, okay. Good."

"What do they want?" May asked, eyes narrowed. 

"To have a social worker come and check out her living situation," Bobbi answered evenly. "It's just a formality, but they do want to do it."

"I assume you have a plan?" Coulson asked. He was gazing at her rationally, without judgment. He was treating her like an agent, not a mother—and in this instance she was grateful. 

"Yeah, we can't have them come here," Hunter agreed, looking at her expectantly. 

"I do. We move out, temporarily, to one of the safehouses nearby. We can pretend it's our house, make it look lived in if we try hard enough."

"...I'm coming with you, right?" Hunter checked. 

"Yes," Bobbi confirmed, turning her head back to Coulson. "If you'll let him, sir."

"If you don't, I'll just quit," her ex-husband added. She looked sideways at him, and then thought that she'd never seen him look more serious. 

"This isn't the best of timing, but I don't see what other choice we have," Coulson said, running a hand over his face. "Do you have a date yet?"

"Not exactly. She suggested late this week sometime, or early next."

"That means you'd be gone four to eight days," May said, exchanging glances with the director. 

"But I can't ask you—either of you—to give up Isabelle," Coulson told them. At Bobbi's look of alarm, he added, "I mean I won't, Agent Morse. Your daughter's welfare is more important than your contribution to S.H.I.E.L.D. at this moment. I don't disagree with your priorities."

"Thank you, sir," Bobbi nodded. "You've been understanding throughout this whole mess..."

"I give you my permission, on one condition," Coulson continued, looking her straight in the eye. "When we find the city, you or Hunter are coming with, and the other is reporting back here to run ops."

Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other, confused. "What city?" he asked. 

"I was going to tell you all at tonight's briefing," the director replied, opening his desk drawer to pull out a thick file folder stamped with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. "The symbols we've been chasing—the ones Garrett and I carved, the ones cut into Agent Stevens, the ones on the Obelisk—they are a map. To a city built by the same aliens from which the GH-325 serum is derived, one that we are now engaged in a race with HYDRA to find. They have the Obelisk, but they don't have all the pieces. We do." He passed her the folder. "Consider this your homework while you're away. It's everything we've learned so far."

"That's...a lot," Hunter said, leaning back in his chair. 

"I know. But there's nothing at S.H.I.E.L.D. more important than this right now. We can’t let HYDRA get their hands on a whole city filled with alien objects, especially if any of them are even half as dangerous as the Obelisk—and we have no reason to think they won’t be. Which is why I need you two back as soon as we track it down. At that point I don't care if you have to reschedule with the social worker—we are at war."

"You don't have to remind me, sir, why we're going head-to-head with HYDRA," Bobbi nodded. "I watched my friends turn on me, and those that didn't die at their hands. I'll be here." Hunter nodded his assent. 

"Good. Meet us here at eight in the morning and May will help you locate an appropriate safehouse. You can move in tomorrow as well, though you'll probably need to spend some time getting it to look less spartan and more lived-in. And I'll also have Skye take a few minutes off from her search to change the formal documentation to be under your name so it won't raise any unwanted questions."

"Thank you, sir," Bobbi said again, rising to leave. 

"So does this mean we're off the hook for the briefing tonight?" Hunter asked. 

Coulson smiled. "Yes, you two are excused. Although you're going to miss my I-know-you-all-may-have-thought-you-were-crazy portion of my speech...I worked all the van ride home on that one."

"You're not crazy," Hunter promised him. They both stood up and left the office together, heading back to the kitchen. “You could have warned me,” he said softly to her as they walked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blindside you,” Bobbi replied. “I was just so focused on what we had to do that I didn’t think about it. But you were always part of my plans.”

“Apology accepted,” he told her. 

“We’re in this together,” she nodded. 

“Together,” Hunter agreed. 

As they entered the kitchen they were met with the sight and sounds of Isabelle sobbing into Trip’s shoulder. “Oh my God what happened?” Bobbi asked, rushing forward. 

Trip shook his head, handing her over. “I have no clue. She just started, I swear.”

“Wasn’t your fault, mate,” Hunter said, looking Isabelle over with concern as the girl wrapped her arms around Bobbi instead. 

“Maybe just with recent events she wanted you two around,” Mack added.

“Thanks, guys, we’ll take her from here,” Bobbi said. 

"We're finished with the dishes, so we'll give you some privacy," Mack told them. "Come on, Trip, I owe you some COD." They both edged out of the room and Bobbi returned her attention to Isabelle, stroking her hair with her hand. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked softly. 

"You were gone," the girl choked out against Bobbi's shirt. 

"But you were with Mack and Trip," Bobbi told her. "They would keep you safe."

"They're not you," Isabelle insisted. She released Bobbi and held her arms out to Hunter, who lifted her into his. 

"Well, we're here now, so no more need for tears, love," he said gently. "We'll try not to leave you alone anymore until you're more comfortable with it, yeah?"

"I don't want to be alone, ever," Isabelle told him with a sniffle.

"We got that now," Hunter assured her. "Now, it's time for bed, so I'm going to give you back to Bobbi." 

Her daughter's warm weight was placed back in her arms, but Isabelle's attention was still focused on him with a distraught look in her eyes and tears refilling them. "No!"

He gazed back at her, perplexed. "My room doesn't have a bed for you, love, and your old one's a mess right now. You and Bob are gonna have to share a bed tonight."

"Want you to be there," Isabelle shook her head. 

"All right, let's go then," Hunter acquiesced. "I'll sleep on the floor; it's fine." He turned and led the way out of the kitchen, back to the spare room Bobbi had claimed. Isabelle began squirming as soon as she was set down. 

"I don't like it here," she whimpered. "It's cold."

"It's plenty warm," Bobbi frowned. "Just as warm as any other room on the base."

Her daughter shook her head. "It's empty and dark."

"But we're here, so it's not empty," she reasoned. Isabelle still shook her head, looking around warily. 

"How about we go to my room?" Hunter suggested. "You want to see my room?"

Nodding, Isabelle began to smile. “Yeah.” 

“Good, because my room’s pretty cool,” he promised. He motioned for Bobbi to come with and they set off down the corridor again, Bobbi inwardly wondering what they would do if Isabelle decided she didn’t like his room either. Maybe it was just the dark gray, blank walls their daughter didn’t like… If so, Hunter’d better be right that his room was ‘cool’ or this was going to end very badly. 

When they reached his quarters, he set Isabelle down to open the door and then guided her inside with a hand on her back. Bobbi followed curiously, taking in her surroundings and unconsciously comparing them to what their bedroom had looked like when they’d been married. A few more soccer—sorry,  _ football _ —posters, a beer bottle on the desk that she was just going to overlook. Although come to think of it there had been quite a bit of beer in their bedroom too towards the end. “So, do you like it?” Hunter asked, lifting her up onto the corner of his unmade bed.

Isabelle considered it a moment, looking around. The room wasn’t bare, but it was very masculine. Bobbi found herself holding her breath awaiting the verdict. “I like it, Daddy,” the girl smiled. They glanced at each other, Hunter’s gaze clearly saying  _ See what I mean! _ while Bobbi’s was more one of shock and excitement. She couldn’t wait for the word ‘Mommy’ to come out of Isabelle’s mouth in reference to her, but of course she couldn’t rush it. She would say it when she was ready… But the fact that she was already comfortable occasionally using ‘Daddy’ with Lance—Hunter, he was  _ Hunter _ , where did that come from?—meant that her turn probably wasn’t far behind. 

“I’ll still take the floor, but I gotta get some blankets and a pillow; there’s extra toothbrushes in the bathroom,” he told her. 

“I’m not going to make you take the floor in your own room, Hunter,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ll sleep there; it’s nothing I haven’t done on missions a hundred times.” 

“Okay, thanks, Bob,” he said, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. They both turned to Isabelle, Bobbi to take her to the bathroom to brush her teeth and Hunter for some other reason. She was staring at them with a pleading expression. 

“Ah, no, love, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Hunter said, understanding the meaning first.

“Yeah, Isabelle, the bed’s not really big enough for three,” Bobbi told her. 

She kept up the puppy-dog-eyes. 

Hunter looked at Bobbi. She looked back at him. “I guess we could...I mean, I’d be okay with it if…” he began. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or anything…” Bobbi replied. “I’m perfectly fine with, you know, sleeping on the floor…”

Isabelle, if possible, gazed at them even more plaintively. 

“Maybe it’d be better if we just did it without talking about it,” she said. 

“I think you’re right.” 

“You win,” Bobbi told Isabelle. The girl smiled. “Now come on, teeth brushing time.”

“I’ll scrounge up another pillow,” Hunter said as they went into the bathroom. Bobbi helped her daughter brush her teeth and waited as she used the toilet—thank God being four meant she was potty-trained, that was a whole other can of worms Bobbi didn’t even want to get into—before getting ready for bed herself. 

“I call the left side of the bed,” she told Hunter as he passed. Isabelle crawled into the middle and Bobbi lay down next to her, pulling the mussed covers over them both. 

“Of course you do,” he sighed, stepping in front of the sink. “Just like old times.” When Hunter had finished, he turned turned out the light and slipped into bed on Isabelle’s other side. The girl had practically fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. “Night, Bob.”

She stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim her. “Night, Hunter.”


	22. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter prepare the leave the base together with Isabelle in order to pass the social worker's inspection.

When Bobbi awoke, she was completely coverless. Typical. With a sigh, she reached out to tug some of them back, turning onto her side to do so. The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. Isabelle was tucked protectively into Hunter as they both slept, his chin resting lightly over the top of her golden hair and a small smile gracing her lips. Warmth filled Bobbi, and she slipped quietly out of the bed, careful not to disturb them. Snuggled between them was the longest Isabelle had slept yet in the base. 

She scribbled a quick note to Hunter and gently tucked it under his pillow before leaving the room and heading down to the kitchen. The Playground seemed especially quiet this morning, but Bobbi dismissed it as the fact that it was currently 6:57 A.M. and Coulson had kept the team up late last night with his alien-city briefing. When she arrived, Mack was at the stove frying up eggs and May was seated at the table, calmly reading something on her tablet. They each exchanged a quiet greeting before Mack asked, “Do you want some eggs?”

“I’m good,” Bobbi replied, heading into the pantry. She emerged with the bag of ground coffee and set it on the counter.

“You sure? You know I make the best eggs,” Mack said.

“Yeah, you do,” Bobbi smiled. “Sure, I’ll have some. Anyone want coffee? I’m making a pot.”

“None for me,” May replied, not looking up from her tablet. 

“Ah, right, you’re anti-coffee,” she nodded. “Coulson mentioned that. Do you want me to…” She looked around uncertainly. “...make it somewhere else?”

May gave her a ghost of a smile before standing up from the table. “Of course not. I was finished here anyway. Come find me when you’re ready to discuss your new living arrangements.”

“I will,” Bobbi told her, then turned to Mack. “How about you? Coffee?”

“Can’t say no to that,” the mechanic replied, stirring the eggs. “What’s this about living arrangements?” 

“Hunter and I are leaving the base for about a week,” she revealed, filling the coffee pot with water from the sink. She started the coffee brewing. “It’s so we can pass the social worker’s inspection.”

“You nervous?” Mack asked.

She smiled; he never beat around the bush. “Of course. They’re going to be judging Hunter and my parenting...we couldn’t even get a  _ marriage  _ between two consenting adults to work,” she joked.

“Well, you don’t necessarily have to do this with Hunter…” Mack pointed out.

“No,” Bobbi said immediately. “Hunter’s in this. I’m not keeping him out of this anymore.” The words came out harsher than she meant.

“Okay,” was all he said in reply for a while. She watched him move the eggs from the pan to two plates with her brow furrowed.

“You’re usually Hunter’s advocate,” Bobbi reminded him as he handed her one. “Something bothering you?”

He sighed. “I guess I'll just miss having her around,” Mack replied, both of them taking seats across from each other at the table. “Last time I saw her she was all swaddled up and couldn’t do anything. Now she’s running around, getting herself into trouble.”

“I hope not,” Bobbi smiled. “But I know what you mean. We’ll be back, I promise.”

“That I don’t doubt.” She raised an eyebrow, lifting a forkful of eggs to her mouth. “I know how you feel about S.H.I.E.L.D., Barbara,” Mack told her. “And Isabelle would miss Skye and Trip if you kept her away too long, not to mention Fitz and Simmons.”

“And you,” Bobbi added.

“Ah, she doesn’t really know me yet,” he replied. “I haven’t had a chance to spend much time with her. But I knew her as a baby; I’ll let the others bond with her a bit.”

“When you do, she’ll love you,” Bobbi assured him confidently. “You’re her godfather.” Mack smiled. “And a big ol’ teddy bear.”

He gave her a look. “I think I preferred it when I was just ‘godfather.’” 

“You are a teddy bear; don’t try to deny it,” she teased. The coffee pot was starting to give off that delicious coffee smell. “Izzy would have loved this place,” Bobbi said, breathing in deeply. “Her biggest complaint about our ops was always the lack of coffee. But here…”

“She did like it,” Mack replied in a measured voice. “Drove May up a wall, but there was always fresh-brewed coffee in the morning thanks to her.”

“I forgot Izzy was here before…” She let the end of that sentence trail off into thin air. “While I was at HYDRA.”

Mack set down his fork and looked at her. “You’re not going to call Isabelle that, are you?”

“Izzy?” Bobbi asked, understanding what he meant. “No, that’s Hartley’s nickname, and only hers.”

“Good,” he nodded.

She frowned slightly, pursing her lips as she looked down at the smattering of eggs still left on the plate. “What do you think of ‘Bella’? That’s apparently what her adoptive parents called her.”

“It’s not what you named her,” he commented carefully. 

“I know, but if she prefers it…”

“You never meant for her to have a nickname,” Mack shook his head. “But calling her by it might be good for you, if she wants. It means you’ve accepted the fact that you didn’t have her for four years. That for four years, someone else was her main influence.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Bobbi asked, standing up from the table. She went over the the coffee pot and unhooked it from the machine. She got two travel mugs down from the cupboard and began filling them without looking at him.

“I honestly don’t know, Barbara,” he came up behind her. Her shoulders slumped slightly; that was fair. “I am working on something for her though,” Mack revealed. “For her birthday. Or Christmas, if I can’t finish it in time.”

Bobbi smiled, snapping the lids onto the mugs. “That’s only an extra four days, you know.”

“Just enough time to finish the paint job,” he replied.

“Paint, huh? So what is this present?” Bobbi questioned, facing him with both cups in her hands.

Mack laughed. “You’ll see.” 

“Well, I’m going to pretend that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Bobbi nodded. “Thanks for the eggs. I’m going to go deliver this to Hunter and see if he and Isabelle are up yet.”

“Okay,” the mechanic agreed, and she began to walk out of the kitchen. “Since when does Hunter like coffee?” he called after her. 

* * *

She returned to Hunter’s room with the two coffee mugs, opening the door quietly and finding them still fast asleep on the bed. She set his cup on the side table and slipped gently back into the bed on her side, leaning up against the headboard with her mug clasped in her hands. Upon second glance at the pair of them the urge to snap a picture overcame her, and she pulled out her phone and took a few before sighing contentedly and leaning back against the headboard again. 

The smell of coffee—wonderful, Hunter, the word for it was  _ wonderful _ —must have woken him up, because a few minutes later his eyes blinked open and he sat up to look at her. “You were watching us,” he said, removing his hand from where it had been resting on Isabelle’s shoulder to rub his eyes.

“You watched me sleep plenty when we were married,” she pointed out. “Besides, you two looked cute together.”

Hunter gave a low grumble in response and then fished under his pillow. “I found your note,” he announced softly, holding it up.

A small smile played across her face. “I hoped you would remember to look for it there.”

“Could never forget, Bob,” he nodded. He reached for the mug and brought it to his lips. “Ugh, coffee.”

“If Izzy was here, she’d smack you upside the head for that insult,” Bobbi teased.

“Let’s just hope Isabelle doesn’t inherit that trait from her namesake,” Hunter muttered. At the sound of her name, the girl in question stirred, blinking sleepily up at them.

“Good morning,” Bobbi greeted her.

Isabelle’s eyes came to rest on the travel mug in her hands. “Can I have some?” Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other, nearly bursting out laughing.

“Sure, you can try some,” Bobbi told her.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, shaking his head emphatically. “What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” Bobbi said, barely able to contain her amusement. “Careful, Isabelle, it’s hot.” She handed her daughter the mug carefully after the girl had pushed herself up into a sitting position on the bed. Hunter watched with indignation as Isabelle raised the cup to her lips. “A small sip,” Bobbi advised.

The girl nearly spat it back out onto the bed. “That’s yucky!”

“I know,” Bobbi grinned, taking the mug back from her. 

“Then why do you drink it?” Isabelle questioned. 

“It’s a grown-up thing,” she answered. 

Their daughter turned to Hunter. “Do you drink it?”

“He’s not a grown-up,” Bobbi cut in, sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey!”

“I never want to be a grown-up if I have to drink that,” Isabelle shook her head. “It tastes like...like…”

“Battery acid,” Hunter supplied. “I know, love. Not all adults drink it, I promise.”

Bobbi stood up from the bed and stretched. “I’m going to go discuss safehouses with May. Make her some breakfast?” she suggested, indicating Isabelle. 

“Sure,” Hunter agreed before adding in a low voice as Isabelle began to dig through her clothes to find an outfit she wanted to wear, “That was one big stunt you pulled though, Bob. What if she had liked it?”

“My parents did that number on me when I was five, kept me away from coffee all the way through high school,” Bobbi said. She gave him a swift, teasing kiss, barely touching her lips to his. “You’re welcome.” 

"What's battery acid?" she heard Isabelle ask as she headed out of the room. 

"That's a question for Fitz," Hunter answered distractedly. Bobbi could feel his gaze burning into her back until she fully shut the door. 

She met May in the conference room, finding her seated at the large table with stacks of files surrounding her. "We have this many safehouses in the area?" Bobbi questioned, taking a seat in front of the papers. 

"These are all the safehouses within fifty miles, plus ones less than one hundred that have a nearby airfield where we could land a Quinjet," May said. 

"So either way the furthest we'd be out is an hour," she nodded, pulling the nearest stack towards her and starting to lead through it. "Anything I should know about any of these?"

"Some of them have more amenities than others," May informed her. 

"Amenities?"

"For S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. In-home gyms, Division C ration-stocked fridges, weapons cache under the floorboards or in the closet, direct wireless links to the base..." she listed off. 

Bobbi smiled. "I definitely don't feel the need for a home gym, and I'd like to see us try getting Isabelle to eat Division C rations. We can rule out the weapons in the closet, but underneath the floor I don't see being a problem either way. A wireless link to the base would be nice though, since I imagine we'll want to keep in touch."

May's eyes swept over the stacks and she quickly and efficiently swept aside all but five, pushing them to one side of the table and out of the way. “Any other parameters?”

She thought a minute. “Smaller would be better, I think. Somewhere homey, because we’ve got less than a week to make it look like Hunter and I have lived there for years.”

“This one,” May set it in front of her. “Forty-eight miles away, two baths, three bedroom, kitchen, and dining room. Single story, in a nice suburban neighborhood. It does have a S.H.I.E.L.D. punching bag in one of the side rooms, but you can take it down and make the room into a…” She pursed her lips. “...playroom or something.”

“It looks perfect,” Bobbi said, looking down at the picture in front of her. The next sheet under that had the floor plan on it, and she took a moment to study the blueprints. "It even has a bathtub." That seemed to require some explanation, so she added, "I've had to introduce Isabelle to the shower the last couple days, and I don't think she likes the feeling of water falling on her head too much. We’ll take this one.”

“I’ll have Skye put it in your name,” May nodded, taking the packet back. “You should start packing.”

“First we have to tell Isabelle,” Bobbi replied with an edge of apprehension. 

“Take a knee. Get down to her level. It’ll help,” May said quietly. The specialist paused for a second, deep in her own thoughts, before reaching beneath her seat and setting a dark gray box on the table, a little bit bigger than the size of an average book and about an inch or two taller. “Take this with you.”

Bobbi glanced at her before pulling the object toward her. It seemed to be made of metal. “What is it?”

“A place to store your gun, safely and out of sight,” May answered. “Biometric scanner here.” She demonstrated with her thumb, and Bobbi watched as a small green light ran underneath it and the box unlocked with a click. It was currently empty. “Put your thumb here,” she instructed, gesturing to the underside of the open lid. An identical green light flashed over Bobbi's finger. "Now it'll recognize you. It's able to store five unique prints at a time. Right now, mine, Andrew's, and yours."

Bobbi's head shot up at the name, but the guarded expression on May's face made her stop and choose her next words carefully. "Was this...yours, May?"

"From a long time ago," the specialist said, moving Bobbi's hand out of the way and closing the box. 

"But the only reason to have one of these is..."

"I requested one from S.H.I.E.L.D. when Andrew and I first started trying to get pregnant," May revealed in an emotionless voice. "I've had it ever since."

"Thank you," Bobbi said, placing her hand fleetingly over May's. She knew well that Bahrain had changed everything for the woman, and this box was one remnant of her life before that. "I'll get it back to you safely."

May nodded, standing up from the table. She handed the files on the safehouse to Bobbi. "I'll go make the arrangements and inform the team," she said, walking out of the room. "Don't forget to say goodbye."

When Bobbi arrived in the kitchen Hunter and Isabelle was still there, with Hunter washing some dishes and her daughter still seated at the table picking over a dry bowl of Fruit Loops. “We’ve got to get her eating some healthier cereals,” she said conversationally, walking up behind Hunter. 

“Agreed,” Hunter said, glancing back at Isabelle. He lowered his voice. “But is that really what you want to be talking about right now?”

She tilted her head, confused. “Is there something else? I figured we’d let her finish breakfast before telling her—”

“You kissed me!” Hunter hissed, staring at her expectantly.

“You kissed me first,” she replied, hiding her smile. 

“But—” He was cut off by a tug at the bottom of his shirt.

“Can we play Mario Kart?” Isabelle asked, looking up at him. He brushed the sugar dust left by her hand off the bottom of his shirt and lifted her up to wash her hands at the sink. 

“Actually, love, there’s something we need to talk to you about,” Hunter told her, setting her down again. Bobbi handed the girl the towel from behind her. 

“What?” Isabelle asked curiously before looking down to concentrate on drying her hands. 

When she handed the towel back, Bobbi gently told her of their plan. “We’re going to go away and live in a house, just the three of us, for about a week. How does that sound?”

“Why?” the girl asked with a frown. 

“Because someone from the adoption agency wants to come and meet us,” he answered. 

Isabelle’s eyes immediately grew round and she wrapped her arms around Bobbi’s leg tightly. “I don’t want to go back there!”

“You aren’t,” she promised, removing the girl’s arms from around her legs and picking her up instead to provide her the security of being held for this. May’s advice to take a knee would probably work just as well going the other way around—bringing Isabelle up to  _ her  _ level. “This is just a formality.”

The girl shook her head. “I don’t like for...formality.”

A slight smile appeared on Hunter’s face. “A formality is just something we have to do to make things official, Isabelle. It doesn’t mean anything, really.”

“And it’s only for a week,” Bobbi told her. “We’ll come back. And Lance and I will be with you the whole time.”

“Promise?” Isabelle asked. 

“Of course,” Hunter said. “We’re not going to leave you. We love you.”

“Okay,” Isabelle mumbled into Bobbi’s chest. 

She gave her daughter small hug before nodding her head in the direction of the door to Hunter. “Let’s go pack.” She frowned, realizing all of her stuff was still in her old room—the one with the door caved in thanks to Ward. Also known as the one that Isabelle didn’t even like walking near. “Take her,” she told Hunter, transferring her into his arms. “I have to get my stuff.” A knowing nod told her that Hunter understood. “I’ll meet you in your quarters; it won’t take long.”

Bobbi was right that it didn’t take her much time to pack. Mostly because packing mostly consisted of throwing a week’s worth of clothes into a duffel bag along with her travel bathroom bag. Then she loaded a gun—followed by an ICER on top when she discovered they both fit—into May’s biometric lockbox and tucked that into the bag too, nestling it somewhere in the middle so she couldn’t damage it accidentally. Right before she left she remembered the keepsakes in the false bottom of her dresser drawer, and lifted it to reveal them nestled safely in their hiding place. She moved aside the cloth-wrapped spare handgun and lifted out a folder from four years ago filled with stuff about Isabelle—everything she had. Bobbi placed it carefully in her duffel. On second thought she also picked up her wedding ring from its place in the shadowed corner and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. Then she replaced the handgun and the false bottom and headed out of the room, stepping gingerly over the rubble from the broken door as she did so.

Hunter and Isabelle were having a decidedly harder time of it, she discovered. From what Bobbi gathered while standing in the doorway he had agreed to bring along whatever Isabelle picked out, but hadn’t anticipated her stubborn refusal to let him pack anything but pairs of pants. And his demonstration of why he couldn’t not bring shirts—which consisted of him stuffing a pair of pants over his head and pulling it downwards until the waist was past his collarbone and his head was squeezed into one of the legs along with his arms—had her in peals of laughter. 

“Need some help there?” she asked amusedly, stepping into the room and walking towards him.

“Yes, please—I think I’m stuck,” Hunter admitted, struggling against the pair of jeans over his head to no avail. She tugged upwards on the pant legs and together they managed to extricate him from them. “All right, enough of that game,” he said once he was free, going to select some shirts for himself with a shake of his head. 

Bobbi turned back to Isabelle. “You all packed?” she asked. It was almost a pointless question; she hadn’t yet been able to get the girl to unpack her backpack. It was still stuffed with everything Isabelle owned from the adoption agency. An outfit went in, another came out. That was all. 

“Yeah,” the girl nodded happily. “I’m bringing Thor with me in the car. Hoppity stays in my backpack though. He has to guard my stuff.”

“Ah,” Bobbi said with a smile. “Very smart.”

* * *

"Bye-bye, Isabelle," Skye squatted down in front of her. "We'll see you again soon. And I'll call if you want me to, I promise." Isabelle nodded, hugging her tightly. After more than a minute it appeared the girl wouldn't let go of her own volition, so Skye gently extracted herself and let the next two have a turn.

"Definitely we'll call you," Simmons promised, looking at Fitz. The two scientists hugged Isabelle as well—more awkwardly than Skye, especially in Fitz's case, but it was still adorable—before joining Skye in stepping back to join the rest of the team who had already said their goodbyes. 

Bobbi and Mack embraced, his voice low and quiet in her ear. "You'll be fine, Barbara."

"Thanks," she whispered back. He went to stand next to Trip and FitzSimmons. May didn't let the silence go on too long between the two parties before opening the door to the garage for them, effectively booting them out the door. 

"Good luck," she told Bobbi as she passed, handing her a small black plastic rectangle. She looked down at the thing in her hands as soon as the door had shut behind them. An old S.H.I.E.L.D. credit card...basically unlimited, and after the Fall extremely rare with the government closing out all the ones they could. Bobbi hadn't even known any still existed. Though the funds might be unlimited, huge purchases—like those required to run a base—would raise red flags that would get this card canceled too, which was probably why May had given it to her to use. But still...

She nearly tripped over Isabelle as she and Hunter stopped suddenly. 

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, voicing their shared concern.

"Do we have to go?" their daughter asked, frowning up at them. 

"Yes, but only for a little bit," he replied. 

"You really don't want to?" Bobbi asked, kneeling in front of Isabelle. She was overwhelmed with the need to know. "You like this place?" 

The girl bit her lip. "It's sometimes scary here, but Skye and Trip and Leo and Jemma..."

"They'll still be here when we get back," Bobbi told her, standing up again and taking her hand. They'd only taken a few more steps forward before Isabelle stopped again, this time with her eyes wide open in shock. 

"What's that?" she pointed straight ahead of them at the giant airplane parked in the middle of their garage. 

"We call it the Bus," Hunter answered her. 

"Does it fly?" the girl questioned, running up ahead of them. 

"Isabelle, slow down!" Bobbi called after her, not wanting her to trip in the somewhat dim lighting. The girl reached the side of the Bus—standing right under the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia was painted, in fact—and pressed her hand against the metal. Her parents caught up with her a few seconds later. "Yes, it flies," she informed her. "May is usually the pilot."

"But how?" Isabelle asked. "It's so big!"

"Another question for Fitz," Hunter laughed. "Lots of jet fuel and really big wings, love. That's all I know."

"I'll ask him," Isabelle said solemnly, lowering her hand back to her side. She looked up at Bobbi. "Can I ride in it?"

"I'm sure May will take you up sometime; it's a bit bigger than the Quinjets I was trained in," Bobbi answered. "But for now we're stuck with a regular old car. 

Isabelle made a face but agreed to be led over to the car in question, Bobbi's old one from when she was undercover in HYDRA that was now just gathering dust in the corner besides when Mack took it out for a drive just to keep it in working condition. It was less conspicuous than a large black SUV. 

After helping her get her backpack off, Hunter opened the trunk and dropped it in along with their duffel bags. Bobbi opened the back seat car door for Isabelle before freezing suddenly. 

"Hunter," she said, "do we have a car seat?"

He appeared from behind the car in less than a second, as alarmed as she was. "I didn't think of that."

"Me either." 

"I guess that'll be our first stop then," Hunter laughed nervously. "Should be all right if she sits in our laps on the way there, right? A store that sells them can't be that far away."

"I don't know," Bobbi said almost guiltily. "But I think the research that I could do to check would just make me paranoid, so I'm going to say yes. She can sit on my lap for the ride there; I'm sort of the size of a car seat..." She tossed Hunter the keys before climbing into the car and lifting Isabelle in after her. Bobbi settled her on her lap, and after some wriggling her daughter finally settled down enough that Bobbi could strap a seatbelt over them both. 

"This is weird," Isabelle informed her. 

"You usually have a car seat, I know," Bobbi told her. "But this is just for right now, because we don't have one."

"Okay," she agreed, bouncing on Bobbi's lap once or twice to get situated. Her feet kicked into her shins, and Bobbi silently hoped the store was close by. Luckily once they got started Isabelle seemed more than happy to gaze out the window, especially when the giant doors to the garage opened to let them out and her mouth formed a big 'O' at the sight. 

When Hunter parked at the store Isabelle hopped out first, dragging Bobbi by the hand from the car. Hunter locked it, and together the three of them entered the building. After one look at the size of the place, she tracked down a salesperson to help them. "Where would be find car seats?" she asked. He directed them to the back of the store, Isabelle trotting along at Bobbi's side. 

Unfortunately, there were three different car seats from which to choose. "Da—rn, I was hoping there would only be one," Hunter said, echoing her thoughts and sending a slightly guilty look her way for almost having introduced their daughter to her first expletive. Or at least, what Bobbi assumed would be her first. They wouldn't really know until she spouted her first bad word that she definitely hadn't learned from them. 

"This one's the cheapest," Bobbi pointed out, fingering a dark grey one with straps that crossed in an 'x' over the front. 

"Yeah, but do we really want something cheap?" Hunter questioned. 

"Or we're just paying for a name brand," she said, meeting his gaze uncertainly. Isabelle's hand slipped out of hers and Bobbi turned to see her run up to the booster seats on the next shelf over. 

"I use one of these!" she said, quite proudly. "I'm a big girl."

"Are you sure?" Bobbi asked, coming over to look. 

"Yes," Isabelle nodded. "Mommy said it was because I grad...graduated."

"Okay," she agreed after a moment, sharing another glance at Hunter. "I believe you. We'll get one of those."

"And there's only one choice," Hunter joked, pulling it off the shelf. They didn't have a cart, so he carried it to the cash register. 

"Can I have this?" Isabelle asked, holding up a Hershey bar. 

Bobbi looked down at her and laughed at the puppy-dog gaze before taking the chocolate bar. "I guess, but we're sharing. And saving some for after dinner."

"Okay!" Isabelle agreed happily, bouncing over to Hunter who was trying to fit the booster seat onto the moving conveyor with little success. "We can get this too!"

Bobbi gave him a nod and handed him the black credit card with which to pay. "And you said I would be the one spoiling her," he hissed playfully in her ear. 

"It's just one chocolate bar; what's the harm?" Bobbi asked. 

They found out the harm less than fifteen minutes later when between the three of them no chocolate was left for after dinner and Isabelle began kicking the back of her seat. Bobbi was sitting in the front because her spy instincts mandated it, but was now somewhat regretting that decision. "Remind me again why you're driving," she said with a sigh to Hunter. "It's  _ my _ car."

"Because you got to drive all the time when we were married," Hunter replied. "I missed it."

"I did not," Bobbi frowned. "That time we went to the beach—you were definitely driving then; I remember because you almost crashed into that telephone pole when I first showed you my bathing suit."

"That was when we're engaged," he told her. "Once we were married, it was always you. So it's my turn now."

She let out a slight  _ humph _ before letting the matter drop, unable to refute his assertion. Eventually Isabelle got tired of kicking the seat and instead played with Thor the Monkey, for which Bobbi was grateful. Every ten minutes or so she checked the time again, not that they were on a schedule. What if the house didn't look like it had in the pictures? If it needed tons of repairs? A paint job? After all, no S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had set foot there in years as far as she knew...unless Coulson had someone up keeping the old safehouses? All the things that could go wrong were piling up in her head, starting with Hunter forgetting he was driving in the United States instead of England and stretching all the way to losing Isabelle somewhere in this big, wide world. The earth speeding by out the window had never looked so damn large, even when she was a spy and traveling all over it. If they lost track of Isabelle out here... At least on the base there were only three exits, not one of which was unsecured. 

If Hunter noticed her unease, he didn't comment on it. 

"I'm bored!" Isabelle shouted from the back seat about a half an hour later. Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other. 

"Still twenty, twenty-five minutes to go," he told her, glancing down at the GPS on his phone. 

"I could put some music on," Bobbi suggested, more to Hunter than Isabelle. 

"Do we have any CDs?" he asked.

"No, but there's always the radio," she replied, pressing the button to turn it on. Isabelle kicked her feet happily in the back as the music began to play. 

"— _ nothing comes close _

_ To the golden coast _

_ Once you party with us _ —"

"Ugh," Hunter said. 

"Ugh?" Bobbi raised an eyebrow at him. 

" _ You'll be falling in love... _ "

"Don't tell me you like this song?" he asked, making a face. 

" _ California girls _

_ We're unforgettable _

_ Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top _ ." 

"It's catchy," Bobbi defended. 

"It's revolting," Hunter countered. 

" _ Sun-kissed skin so hot _

_ We'll melt your popsi _ —"

"That's it," Hunter said, reaching over to turn it off. "We have a four-year-old in the back of the car. You really want her listening to this?"

"At least just change the station," she replied in a slight exasperated tone. "It's not like she would have remembered, or even understood what she was singing about anyway." She switched turned it back on and switched it to the next one up that wasn't pure static. 

"_I know you want it__  
_ _But you're a good girl__  
_ _The way you grab me_—"

Hunter hung his head. "Oh, this is so much better, Bob." 

"_Must wanna get nasty___  
_Go ahead, get at me__  
_ __Everybody get up!"

"Yeah, done here," he decided, turning it off completely. 

"I want music!" Isabelle pouted from the back. 

"Sorry, love, apparently all they play around here is bad stuff," Hunter glanced at her through the rearview mirror. 

"It wasn't bad," Isabelle told him earnestly. 

Bobbi smiled, pressing the radio button again. "We'll try just one more station." Her ex-husband grumbled his assent. 

" _ Cause I'm happy... _

_ Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof! _ "

She looked at Hunter. "Nothing wrong with music teaching our daughter the value of happiness, is there, Lance?" she asked in a teasing voice. 

"Never knew happiness could be so bloody annoying," Hunter muttered, but he did not move to touch the radio again until they were pulling into their destination, the driveway of the safehouse. 

They had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Early tomorrow morning (so in about ten hours, ack) I am moving to the other side of the country to start an internship that will hopefully lead to a job in a place I know little about and I am high-key nervous, so any support you can send my way would be very much appreciated over the next few days <3


	23. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter look at some baby pictures.

"Bath time," Bobbi said, giving Isabelle a look. Her daughter immediately pouted from where she was sitting across from her at the dining table. 

Almost immediately her pout morphed into the puppy-dog eyes. "Can we please explore some more first?"

"Love, we've explored this place top to bottom three times already," Hunter said, shaking his head. "Bob's right; it’s time for your bath." 

The girl squirmed in her seat. "Five more minutes?"

"No. March," Bobbi pointed. "You remember where the bathroom is?" Isabelle nodded unhappily. "I'll be there in a minute." The girl sighed and ran off in that direction. 

"I'll do dishes," Hunter offered, standing up from the table and beginning to collect plates. He paused. "Or maybe I shouldn't and we can leave them out, so the place looks lived in, yeah?"

"Social worker's not coming for days, Hunter," she replied incredulously. "We're not leaving them out until then." She laughed. "That's not lived in, that's disgusting."

"It's what the apartment I lived in would look like."

Bobbi made a face. "Believe me, I know."

"I'm ready!" Isabelle called, voice slightly echoey from the tiled walls of the bathroom. 

"Coming!" she called back, getting up. It was almost weird letting Isabelle have the run of the house after so much time escorting her everywhere. The house had turned out to be larger than expected but still very homey, and best of all, secure. Bobbi stepped over the grocery bags full of non-perishables on the way to the bathroom; shopping had been an interesting experience of having a four-year-old who wanted to buy pretty much everything that wasn't green and leafy, a man-child when it came to little kid toys, and her own propensity to give in to them. Combine that with an unlimited S.H.I.E.L.D. credit card...

Needless to say, on what was only their first outing they bought a whole ton of crap. 

"Bubbles!" Isabelle demanded as soon as Bobbi walked in the door. 

Bobbi laughed, pulling the liquid out from where Hunter had stowed it underneath the sink. "Okay, but this means no more complaining about bathtime." Isabelle happily clamored into the tub as Bobbi stepped over her clothes strewn on the floor and started the water running. She measured out the amount of cherry red liquid indicated on the bottle and poured it in, pink bubbles immediately beginning to appear. Isabelle happily sat down in the tub and scooped some up in her hands. 

When bathtime was over, Hunter joined them in Isabelle’s new room to get her to bed. It had, as Isabelle had said, a “big-girl bed” up against one wall and the window at its foot. The walls were mostly bare except for one Tangled poster that she’d insisted they’d buy. The window itself was too large for Bobbi’s taste—three men could climb in at once at that size—but she knew intellectually that it was alarmed and made of shatter-resistant glass, and that this was a very safe suburban neighborhood. 

Isabelle finished setting Hoppity and Thor at the end of her bed and crawled back over it towards her pillow. “Read me a story?” she asked, looking at them both. 

“Of course,” Bobbi replied with a smile, pulling the covers over her. Hunter held up the three book selections he had in his hands. 

“What do you think,  _ Jack and the Beanstalk _ ,  _ Little Red Riding Hood _ , or  _ Piggy's Pancake Parlor _ ?” he asked. 

“ _ Little Red Riding Hood _ !” 

Hunter grinned and looked at Bobbi. “You be the grandmother, I'll be the wolf?”

She frowned, teasing him. “Why do I have to be the grandmother? Are you calling me old?”

“You're the girl too, so it evens out,” Hunter replied. Smiling, Bobbi sat on the bed next to Isabelle and held the book open for them while Hunter knelt on the floor. When they got to the part where the wild gobbled up the old woman, he leapt onto the bed with a snarl, tickling Isabelle and eliciting peals of laughter. Then he pulled Bobbi down onto the floor with him by the ankles, causing their daughter to only laugh harder. 

By the time they had finished—“Little Red Riding Hood” having bonked the wolf over the head to finish him off—Isabelle was bouncing up and down excitedly. “Read it again, read it again!” 

“Bedtime,” Bobbi reminded her. On impulse she leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead before pulling the covers up over her. “Goodnight, Isabelle. We’ll see you in the morning.”

The happy glaze faded from isabelle’s eyes. “You're not going to stay?”

“We’ll be just a room over, love,” Hunter assured her. “This is your room. And the bed isn't big enough for all of us, see?” He patted it. 

“I can make room,” the girl replied, shifting over so that she was pressed against the wall. 

“If you need us you can come and wake us up at any time during the night,” Bobbi promised. “But for now we need you to try and stay in here, okay? Just lie here for an hour and try to go to sleep. We’ll come check on you then.”

“Thirty minutes,” Isabelle said. 

“Fine, thirty minutes. Want me to plug in the nightlight?” The girl nodded. Bobbi did, and once Hunter had said goodnight as well she turned off the main light. They exited the room. “Isn't the point of a bedtime story to make her sleepy, not rile her up?” Bobbi teased once they were a safe distance away. 

“Oh, forgive me for making our daughter laugh,” Hunter rolled his eyes. Back in the kitchen, she found all the dishes to be washed and in the drainer and the rest of the groceries put away—or at least, stuffed in the pantry where she couldn't see them, which would be a far more typical Hunter-thing to do. Their food supplies were a bit odd if someone were to open the fridge and look at them, given that they had all the staples like milk, eggs, and I-can't-believe-it's-not-butter, but not things they wouldn't be able to finish in the time allotted in this safehouse. But she trusted no social worker was going to do a thorough inspection of their refrigerator.

“So, bed?” Hunter asked. 

“Bed,” Bobbi agreed with a sigh. She checked her phone, answering a quick text from May. “It’s only eight o’clock—we never go to bed this early at the base.”

“And you wondered why I never left mercenary work for becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Hunter replied. She shot him a glance, shoving her phone back in her pocket. “So, uh...I guess I’ll take the couch,” he said uncertainly.

Bobbi looked at him askance. “Wouldn’t you prefer the main bedroom? There’s no reason we can’t sleep in the same bed, Hunter.”

He smiled. “Right, because we did it last night. But that was special circumstances, a child between us…”

“We did it plenty when we were married too,” she told him. “And we’re professionals, if you want to go that route. Barton and Romanoff do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but Barton and Romanoff aren’t ex-husband and ex-wife with a daughter to think about and maybe even a budding rekindling of their relationship.” Bobbi walked over to him and gave him a peck on the lips complemented with a roll of her eyes.

“Come on, Hunter,” she said, walking towards the bedroom. After getting ready for bed, she was under the covers first, sitting up against the headboard and updating herself of the goings-on at the Playground through her tablet. 

Hunter climbed in beside her. "How could this have happened, Bob?” She placed her tablet down on her lap, looking at him. “I don't understand… Was it one of those nothing-is-100%-preventative-except-abstinence things or did one of us forget?" 

She laughed, stalling for time to gather her thoughts. "Like the two of us could ever do abstinence," she rolled her eyes. He cracked a smile along with her but remained intent on the question. Bobbi took a deep breath. "With everything that was happening and the ugliness of the divorce, I missed my S.H.I.E.L.D. birth control shot. I was a week overdue," she answered softly. "And in that week..." 

Hunter nodded. “When did you find out?”

“Hold on, I have to check on Isabelle,” Bobbi said, sliding her legs out of the bed. She exited the room without a backward glance, steadying herself against the wall outside. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected this line of questioning once they were here… Looking into Isabelle’s room, she saw the girl fast asleep in bed, arms circled around Hoppity. Smiling, she closed the door and rejoined Hunter in the master bedroom, pulling a file folder out of her bag before crawling back in with him. 

“She okay?” Hunter asked. 

“Asleep.”

“Good,” he said, then eyed the folder. “What’s that?”

“Everything I have from the first few weeks with Isabelle,” she told him, one hand casually draped over it, keeping it closed. “But in answer to your original question, I suspected as much two weeks later. Didn’t have it confirmed for another month. It...complicated things.”

“Did you continue on with S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“For a bit. When I told Maria, she went all Deputy Director on me and benched me,” Bobbi revealed. 

“How many other people knew?” he questioned. 

“Mack.”

“Not Hartley?”

“I never got the chance,” she replied. “Mack was the one who stuck with me through it all; he was so supportive.” She opened the folder and took out the first picture. “The first ultrasound.” She handed it to him. Hunter gazed down on it, an almost tortured expression on his face. 

“I wish you had told me, Bob,” he whispered. 

“I wish so too,” she answered honestly. 

Hunter met her eyes as he handed the picture back. “I know.” 

She smiled briefly, pulling out the second and third ones. “Here.” He took them almost reverently, this time more happiness on his face than anguish. 

“That’s Isabelle?” he asked, pointing to the nearly formed shape of a baby in the third image. 

“Yeah,” Bobbi smiled. 

“She looks like an alien, must be from your side of the family,” he joked as he handed the two photos back almost hesitantly. 

She punched him in the arm before, sensing his reluctance, promising, “We can make copies when we get back.”

Hunter stuck his tongue out at her, then returned to seriousness. “How big was she when she was born? Do you have any pictures of her as a baby?”

“Of course,” Bobbi said. “She was eighteen inches, seven pounds on the dot. This is her right after she was born. Mack took the picture since there was no such thing as a selfie back then.” She withdrew a photograph of a baby Isabelle swaddled in blue snoozing on her chest. “Plus I was so tired from the labor that I wouldn’t have been able to hold a phone up with steady enough hands.”

“She’s…tiny.” Hunter commented lamely as he stared at the picture for a few moments. “Wait, why is she in blue?” He looked at her, confused. “I thought they color-coded the babies? Or did they not realize...”

Frowning, she took the picture from him and stared at it for a second, then burst out laughing. “Oh, I’d forgotten that part! No, the hospital ran out of pink blankets at the last minute, so they dressed her in blue. Confused Mack for a minute too when he first walked in.” She paused, still smiling. 

“The Mockingbird forgot something? Be still my heart,” her ex-husband said, nudging her with his arm. 

“All my memories of the time immediately before and after the birth are a bit fuzzy…” Bobbi added. “You know, from the pain.”

Hunter chuckled slightly, taking the photo back from her to study again. “I’m not complaining about missing you in labor,” he admitted. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned. 

“Although I am envious that you got to meet Isabelle as a little baby.”

“She didn’t do much,” Bobbi pointed out lightly. “Slept a lot. Pretty much constantly wanted me to feed her. Besides, I’m not sure I would have let you in with me. Hospitals generally frown upon dads-to-be fainting in the delivery room.”

“Hey!” She gave him a look and he deflated. “No, yeah, that’s fair. How...how long did you have her for?”

Bobbi looked down, teeth suddenly clenching. “Three weeks.”

“Three weeks…” Hunter repeated carefully. “What was she like?”

“She was...amazingly cute,” Bobbi laughed. “Mack stayed with me nearly the whole time, so it wasn’t too overwhelming.” Her eyebrows knit together. “I wish I could describe the feeling to you, Lance… Looking down at her and realizing her entire existence depends on you, and that you love her more than you’ve ever loved anything else without even knowing why.”

“Her entire existence depended on you…and you gave her away. Why?” Hunter asked, his voice low. He was barely asking the question out loud. 

Her eyes flashed. “It was  _ because  _ she depended on me, Hunter. Because she depended on me and I wasn’t the type of person a child—let alone a baby—could depend on. I loved her, so I let her go.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Hunter admitted. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that; I would literally have changed my whole life to make that little girl happy, regardless of what I had to do to do it. I wouldn’t have let her go to some stranger—but then again, I didn’t get to make that decision. You should have given me the option to take her when you decided you didn’t want her.”

She ripped the picture out of his hands furiously, throwing off the blankets covering her legs and standing up. “This is why I don’t tell you anything, Hunter. You take my words and you twist them. I already said I was sorry; I don’t know what else you want me to do. But I’m not going to sit here and just let you attack me over it.” She stuffed the file folder back into her duffel bag and swung it over one shoulder. “I’ll be on the couch.”

“Wait—” Hunter said quickly as he slid out of the bed, nearly getting caught in the covers in his haste. “You told Isabelle that you’d be in this room. I’ll sleep on the couch.” There was no apology in his voice as he grabbed one of the pillows. “I don’t want her to come in here and not find you.”

She stopped him at the door with a hand on his chest, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not that I didn’t want her, Hunter. You can believe me or not, but giving her up was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—and that includes our divorce.”

“One day you’ll learn that you don’t have to do everything on your own,” Hunter informed her softly. “You can ask for help; you have a lot of friends—although come to think of it, I still don’t know why you would pick Mack to help you with a newborn baby. I’d be scared he’d crush her or something.”

“I’m not doing it alone anymore,” Bobbi stated quietly, closing the door and cutting them both off from the living room. 

Hunter glanced at the door for a second before tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “Let’s see what else is in the folder, yeah? There must be pictures of you looking like crap that I can use as blackmail some day,” he joked feebly.

She recognized the peace offering and sat back down, opening the folder. “My hair’s a mess in this one,” she said, handing it over. 

Hunter took the picture and examined it, “Yeah, you totally look like crap.” He scoffed lightly before sitting down next to her, “She looks bigger in this photo; when was it taken?”

“The day I first met her adoptive parents,” Bobbi admitted. “We met several times before I signed the papers. They weren’t  _ strangers _ .”

Hunter looked at her silently for a moment before silently accepting her statement. “You know, I actually looked after a baby boy for two days a couple of years ago—it was for a SAS mate of mine. Changing his nappy was hell, I swear he was aiming at me every time.” He shuddered at the thought. “I’m guessing you didn’t have that particular issue with Isabelle?”

Bobbi laughed. “No, I didn’t. But she always seemed to hate being changed, would start crying as soon as the diaper was off. I think it was something about security, because she loved being held too. Hated being in her crib.” She paused. “Mack really did get the full up-at-all-hours experience.”

Hunter laughed. “I’m sure he loved that.” He looked at the picture in his hand again. “We should get some frames and put some of these pictures up,” he suggested. 

“Good idea. Lived in,” she nodded, then yawned. “But for now, sleep. Weren’t we saying at the start of this how tired we both were and how we never get to sleep this early?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, slipping down and fully under the covers while she turned out the light. “What do you think the likelihood is that Isabelle’ll sleep all the way through the night on her own?”

“I don’t know,” Bobbi murmured, joining him. “But we’ll deal with that when we come to it. Matter of fact, I think it’s your turn this time. I did enough of it when she was a baby.”

He snorted a little in the darkness, facing away from her. “Fine, but I’m still waking you up the minute she says she wants Mommy. Also your department is wetting the bed.”

She rolled her eyes before closing them, relaxing into the soft bed. “Go to sleep, Hunter.” A few minutes later, she added, “But I am really glad you’re here with me.”


	24. Of Pancakes, Assassins, and M&Ms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi questions herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Nazezdha321 - I promised our fav would be mentioned ;)

Bobbi woke up with hair tickling her chin. Hunter? No, Hunter didn’t have that much hair. Her eyes opened. Isabelle. “What are you doing in here?” Bobbi mumbled. There was no answer, not that she really expected one. She sighed, rolling over onto her back and blinking up at the ceiling. 

“She musta crawled in here during the night,” came Hunter's sleep-slurred voice. “‘S okay, Bob. Go back to sleep.” 

Somehow, she did, and when her eyes opened again the bed was empty of both Hunter and Isabelle. Except...she was currently hugging Thor the Monkey. How had…? She was guessing Isabelle again. 

Stretching, Bobbi slipped her legs out of bed and stood up, blinking in the bright sunlight shining in through the window. It was almost odd waking up to actual natural light, as opposed to the artificial brightening set on a per-room basis at the Playground. She sniffed the air. Pancakes. 

Bobbi pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and discarded her sleepwear before investigating the scent, which was getting more appetizing by the minute. She entered the kitchen quietly to see Isabelle hoisted up on Hunter’s hip with her arms around his neck, staring transfixed into the pan on the stove. “Good morning,” she greeted them. Hunter twisted around and almost immediately Isabelle wriggled out of his arms and ran over to her. 

Bobbi hugged her and picked her up, carrying her much as Hunter had been. “I noticed you snuck into our bed last night,” she said lightly, bopping Isabelle on the nose. “When did that happen?” The girl shrugged and avoided her gaze, pressing her face into Bobbi’s neck instead. What Bobbi had been about to say died in her throat and she stroked Isabelle’s hair. “You can come to our bed if you need to. I'm just saying you could've woken one of us up if you were scared. Sound good?”

“‘kay,” she mumbled. 

“We’re making pancakes,” Hunter said brightly. 

She gave him a good-morning kiss, quick and chaste. “I can see that.”

“We were going to bring you breakfast in bed, but I should've known you wouldn't stay asleep that long,” he told her ruefully. 

“It's the thought that counts,” Bobbi said. “But these do look delicious,” she complimented Isabelle. 

Both she and Hunter smiled when Isabelle did. 

* * *

The day before the social worker was scheduled to visit, the house was pretty much in order. Isabelle’s room was decorated. The living room had books and toys on the shelves, both ones age-appropriate for their daughter and ones up high for the two of them. They had discovered that the S.H.I.E.L.D. cable package included the PBS Kids channel with its regular stations and high-speed internet. Bobbi had spent her final day using her tablet on the couch researching potential questions and their respective correct answers, and switching off with Hunter playing with Isabelle. She suspected her ex-husband was doing something similar during his downtime. 

She’d gotten just desperate enough to go searching through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s old personnel files, the ones that had been updated after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and were certified HYDRA-free. She came across an old friend-acquaintance from her days at the Triskelion with Barton who had transitioned into social work, and in the spur of the moment picked up the phone. Her friend—Agent Karen Sanders—had patiently answered her queries, but in the end laughed and told Bobbi that no, she couldn't ethically take over Isabelle’s case. 

That would have made their lives infinitely easier. Karen knew about the Playground; this entire playing-house charade wouldn't have been necessary. They also wouldn't have to worry about what might slip out of Isabelle’s mouth during the visit...which is what they should be worrying about right now. 

Bobbi set her tablet down on the coffee table and snapped her fingers to get Hunter’s attention. At the moment he too was surfing the web, sitting in the lounge chair. Their eyes connected and he nodded, locking the screen and setting it aside. 

“Say hi to Skye!” Isabelle said as she came over, thrusting the device up at her from where she was seated on the floor. 

“Hi, Skye,” Bobbi laughed, and the hacker greeted her back with equal mirth on the other end. “Everything good back at the base?” she asked, gently taking the tablet from Isabelle. Yes, their four-year-old daughter had a tablet. No, they weren't going to be  _ those _ parents—it was going straight back to S.H.I.E.L.D. once they had no more need for Skype calls. 

“Yeah, no action here yet,” Skye informed her. “Don't worry about us.”

“Good,” Bobbi nodded. “Going to have to hang up now; we’ve got some things to discuss before tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” Skye told her sincerely. “Just let me say goodbye to Isabelle.” Bobbi turned the tablet towards her daughter, watching as the young agent waved to her.

“Bye-bye!” Isabelle said, bouncing up and waving vigorously back.

“See you soon,” Bobbi said before ending the call. She put the tablet away before turning to Isabelle. “What were you doing talking to Skye? I thought Fitz was helping you practice the alphabet.”

Isabelle just shrugged, giving her mother a cutely guilty look. 

“Get used to it,” Bobbi smiled. “They’ll be teaching you a lot more later, I'm sure.” 

“But for now, Isabelle, we want to talk to you about tomorrow,” Hunter cut in. They all sat down on the couch, with the girl in between the two adults. Then Hunter promptly looked at Bobbi to begin. Bastard. 

“Well, we want you to… Isabelle, do you know what a secret is?” she asked, changing tactics. 

She nodded. “You're not supposed to tell. But secrets are bad.”

“I'm going to let you in on a grown-up secret, Isabelle,” Bobbi told her. “We keep secrets sometimes, and they’re not all bad. Sometimes they're necessary to keep people safe.”

“Safe from bad people? Like Ward?” Isabelle asked, looking up at her. 

She smiled, pulling the four-year-old in for a quick hug or reassurance. “Yes, like that. Lance and I, we keep a lot of secrets for that reason that other people can't know. Our job is to protect people, but in order to do that, we have to keep a lot of things about our lives a secret.”

“Like where we really live,” Hunter provided. “Or what we do.” Isabelle looked between them confusedly and Bobbi knew they had to be clearer with her. 

“These are things we have to keep from the guest who comes to visit tomorrow,” she said. “We love you, and we really want to keep you with us. But they won't let us if they find out about where we really live.”

“I want to stay with you too,” the girl mumbled, looping her arms around Bobbi’s stomach. 

She smiled, glancing up at Hunter. “Thank you, Isabelle. For tomorrow this is our house, and we’ve lived here for a few weeks.”

“But that's lying.”

She and Hunter looked at each other. “We’re not telling you to lie, exactly, love,” he said uneasily. “But the only way we will be able to go back to the base with you and see Skye and Leo and Jemma and Trip again is if the social worker believes we’re trying to become a normal family. Normal families live in houses and not on bases. They have a dad and a mum and an amazing little kid like you—” He kissed the top of her head. “—and don't live with a team like we do.”

“So it's like pretend,” Isabelle nodded. 

“Yes,” Hunter confirmed, latching onto that. 

She looked up at them. “Can I talk about watching  _ Tangled _ with Skye?”

“I know that was a lot of fun, but no,” Bobbi shook her head. “You can say you watched Tangled with us though. You can show the social worker the poster on your wall if you want.”

“It's probably best you don't mention the others at all,” Hunter added. 

Isabelle squirmed in her seat thinking about it. “And then we go back and I can sing more songs with Skye and Leo can do more science and Jemma can use M&Ms when we do math?” Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other questioningly. “She promised,” Isabelle clarified. “She said two M&Ms plus three M&Ms equals five M&Ms and I could eat them all.”

“Okay,” Bobbi laughed. “Yes, after this we all get to go back to the base.”

“Okay,” Isabelle agreed with a smile. 

“And don't mention to the social worker that we told you to do this, yeah?” Hunter added. “That's a secret too.”

Isabelle scrunched up her nose. “We have lots of secrets.”

Bobbi laughed. “Yes, yes, we do.”

* * *

Their conversation, as well as it seemed to have gone, made Bobbi uneasy for the rest of the day. After dinner, she started on the dishes before Hunter could, needing some time on her own to think. Or worry. No difference, really. “Hunter, could you give Isabelle a bath tonight and get her ready for bed?” she requested. 

“Me?” He seemed uncertain. “Is that...I mean, I can…?”

“Bubbles!” Isabelle tugged on his hand in the direction of the bathroom. 

“She's your daughter; it's perfectly normal,” Bobbi said, giving him a nod. Hunter let himself be led away, and she turned back to the sink, scrubbing a particularly tough smudge of food off one of their dinner plates. She had a sinking feeling they’d just made a huge parenting mistake encouraging Isabelle to lie and keep secrets. They were trying to raise a daughter, not a spy. And yet the life they led forced them to make some compromises in that regard; she simply couldn't see a way around it. Not without forging adoption documents and fudging the whole process—while Bobbi had little doubt Skye had the skill to pull it off, they’d always be watching their backs to make sure no one discovered the ruse, living in constant fear that someone would discover their wrongdoing and Isabelle would be taken from them. That wasn't the way Bobbi wanted to live. Besides, she’d been using S.H.I.E.L.D. loopholes and shortcuts for most of her adult life, including when she gave Isabelle up in the first place and vetted the adoptive parents with an investigation that made an FBI or CIA background check pale in comparison. Now that she had Isabelle back again, she wanted to do it right as much as they could. 

When she was done with the dishes, Bobbi dried off her hands and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Her fingers dialed his number without even bothering with a contact list, knowing it by heart the way she knew her own birthday. “Barton,” her old partner answered on the other end of the line. 

“Hey, Clint, it's Bobbi,” she greeted him. “Do you have time to talk?”

“I have about...a minute thirty seconds before such an action has the potential to get me killed,” Clint said, half joking and half absolutely serious. 

“All right, I'll keep it quick,” she responded. “I only had a few questions.”

“Ask away.”

“How old was Natasha when she was inducted into the Red Room?”

There was an audible pause. “Quite young. I'm not sure she herself knows the exact age. Around four, maybe five?”

“And they started training her right away?” she checked. 

“Bobbi, isn't this the kind of thing you should be asking Natasha?” Clint asked. 

“I don't want to bother her with this, or dredge up old memories...it's not that important,” Bobbi told him. 

“Then why do you ask?”

“It's...mission-related,” she lied, the first plausible thing that popped into her head. 

The last semblance of joking left his voice. “If that mission has something to do with the Red Room, she’d want to know.”

“It has nothing to do with the Red Room,” Bobbi promised. “I'm sorry; I can't tell you more than that.” She didn't know why she was keeping Isabelle a secret from Clint exactly—maybe because it wasn't the kind of small news she would want to break to him in less than a minute and a half. “All right, I'll let you go now,” she said. “Thanks. Don't get killed.”

“Yes ma’am,” Clint replied snarkily before the line clicked dead. She allowed herself a brief smile at talking to her partner again, then focused on what had actually been said. 

Four or five. Isabelle was almost five, would be this Christmas. Bobbi refused to let Isabelle grow up like that—she knew the parallels she was drawing between Natasha and Isabelle were strained, but at the same time she was certain they were there. As much as she loved Natasha, she had to admit that she hadn't emerged unscathed in any sense of the word from her harsh upbringing, where the first thing Red Room students learned from their so-called teachers was how to lie and the first thing they learned from each other was the value of keeping secrets in keeping themselves alive. She still could see no other option in regards to the social worker, but she and Hunter could at least make sure that for Isabelle, it was as far from living a double life as possible. 

She came into Isabelle’s room just in time for the end of Hunter’s bedtime story. “‘Nutmeg,’ whispered Piggy. ‘Is that the secret ingredient?’ asked Fox,” he read, changing his voice for each of the characters. “‘That,’ said Piggy…” Hunter flipped the page. “‘...and a little bit of love.’” There was a moment of silence—that wonderful second of bliss after finishing a good book—before Isabelle noticed her presence. 

“You missed the story,” Isabelle accused her as Bobbi sat down on the edge of the bed next to her ex-husband. She looked at Lance mischievously. “You have to read it again!” Bobbi noticed that the front of his shirt was soaked with water from Isabelle’s bath. She’d have to remind him that practice makes perfect later. 

“Nope, one bedtime story a night, love,” Hunter told her. “Now it's time for you to go to sleep.”

“Just a minute,” Bobbi interrupted, and Hunter looked at her questioningly. They had decided the night before that it would probably be best if only one of them was there to read a story each night as much as they both loved to do it, seeing as back at the Playground it was highly likely that only one often would be available to do so at a time. “Isabelle, I know we told you that you might have to keep some secrets and tell a few lies tomorrow.” The girl gave a slight nod and scrunched down in her bed. “But I want to make it clear to you that you never have to keep secrets or not tell the truth to us, to Lance and I. There's nothing you can't tell us. We don't have to keep secrets from each other, ever.”

“Why?” Isabelle asked.

Bobbi glanced at Hunter. “Because we’re family. And because Lance and I love you very much. Okay?”

“Okay,” Isabelle said, reaching up to give Bobbi a hug. 

“Goodnight, love,” Hunter said. 

“Goodnight, Isabelle.” She placed a small kiss on her daughter's forehead, and they closed the door softly behind them. 


	25. Janet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter are inspected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about the adoption system soooo...did a little research and made it up as I went along ;) Enjoy!

Everything in the safehouse—no,  _ their _ house—was painted with a nervous tension in Bobbi’s eyes, from the way the water in the pot somehow managed to boil over though she watched it like a hawk to how the cinnamon in the little spice jar seemed to clump together as she tried to shake it out until a huge amount finally plopped into the surface of the oatmeal in a poof of brown powder. The chairs of the kitchen table seemed to stick just a bit more than normal though they’d mopped the entire room the day before, and Bobbi could have sworn they’d put up enough pictures yesterday to mask the bareness of the walls, but now it was like everywhere she looked there was a bald spot. 

“Breakfast!” she called when she was finally scooping it into bowls. She placed the bowls at the table with the plate of cut fruit in the center and then washed her hands before heading to Isabelle’s room to see what the holdup was. 

“I don't know,” came Isabelle’s voice as she approached. 

“You could wear this,” Hunter suggested patiently, and Bobbi paused outside the door, listening with the beginnings of a smile taking over her face.

“Don't I have to wear a dress?” the girl asked. 

“Why would you have to wear a dress?” Hunter replied. “Because this is a special occasion?” There was a pause. “You don't have to if you don't want to, love,” he told her. “I had a really good friend once, and she hated wearing dresses. And the color pink. And makeup. But you know what? She was really cool, and one of the best friends I ever had.” Bobbi stopped dumb outside the door, frozen in place. He was talking about… A fresh wave of anguish rolled through her. 

“So I can wear this?” Isabelle asked. 

“Yeah,” Hunter confirmed. 

“Can I meet your friend?” she requested. 

There was another pause, and Bobbi quickly blinked away any tears that were even thinking of beginning to form in her eyes. “Sorry, love, she died,” Hunter told her softly. 

“Oh.”

“She was a really good friend of Bobbi’s too,” he went on. “Do you know where your name comes from?”

“No,” Isabelle replied curiously. 

“Well, you have her name,” Hunter informed her. “Because Bob and I loved her a lot, and she was strong and smart and not afraid of a dam—of anything.”

“Not even the dark?” the girl asked, a bit of awe coloring her voice. 

“Definitely not. She loved nighttime,” he revealed. 

“What would she wear?” Isabelle asked suddenly. 

There were some sounds of rummaging. “These, for sure. Izzy loved boots ever since she was a kid, although back then they were for playing in the mud rather than running into comba...t.” The corner of Bobbi’s lips turned upwards again at his catch and then failure to be able to age-appropriatize his sentence. “And this. She loved the color red.”

“My favorite color is red too!” Isabelle exclaimed happily. There was some light shuffling from the room, and before she knew it the door was opening. Isabelle ran out first towards the kitchen wearing a bright red shirt with a cat on it, jeans, and a tiny pair of black boots the size of whose zipper almost dwarfed the laces. 

She knew she had tears in her eyes as she looked at him. “Bob, you okay?” Hunter asked. 

Bobbi couldn't speak, just wrapped her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. He seemed to understand immediately, mumbling, “I hope you don't mind me telling her…” She gave a slight shake of her head against him, two small dots of wetness forming on his shirt. “I miss her too, Bob,” he whispered. They just stood there for a few more seconds in each other’s embrace. 

“Are you coming?” Isabelle called impatiently from the kitchen. 

“Be right there,” Bobbi replied in as normal a voice as she could muster. She pulled away from him, though his hands remained looped around the back of her neck, wrists resting on her shoulders. She gazed at him through damp lashes. “Thank you. What you said to her was...I couldn't have done it better.”

“You gave our daughter the perfect name,” he told her. Hunter leaned forward to read a soft kiss to her lips, eliciting a smile out of her. Bobbi took a deep breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then turned to walk back into the kitchen and join Isabelle for breakfast. Somehow her fingers traced down his arm and laced together with his. 

After breakfast Hunter did the dishes despite her protests—keeping her hands busy helped keep her mind off things—so with Isabelle in her room playing with her stuffed animals Bobbi decided the next best thing would be to get some work done on her tablet. Even when Bobbi had returned from HYDRA, Coulson was still looking for ex-agents in peril or needing a job after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., a project near and dear to her that she had somewhat taken over as of late. Though her tablet didn't have the computing power of the Playground mainframe, it was enough to collate some of the data she’d already collected on a couple of analysts and a specialist that she was alarmed to find had been in deep cover at the time of the Fall and was now missing going on three months. 

She had just sent a detailed brief on the analysts to Agent Chaev in the San Francisco west coast satellite base when a Skype call came in from the Playground. She accepted it with a small smile, wondering who it might be. 

Of the top five she would have guessed, Melinda May was not one of them. “May,” Bobbi greeted her. “Is everything all right?”

“You tell me,” the agent said in what she could only describe as a gentle voice. “Your meeting with the social worker is today.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bobbi nodded. 

“How're you doing?” she asked. 

“I'm...okay,” Bobbi gave a light laugh. 

“And you will be after this meeting as well,” May stated. “You are as well-equipped for this as anyone could be, and you deserve it just as much.”

“Thanks, Melinda,” Bobbi smiled. 

“The rest of the team wanted to call and say good luck to Isabelle, but I told them it wouldn't be a good idea to remind Isabelle of them right beforehand.”

“Yeah, thanks…” she said. “It's probably a good thing to keep our life right now as normal-people as possible right now for Isabelle’s sake. But...if I'm honest, it's more me I'm worried about. I just don't want to be the one to screw this up.” Bobbi paused. “Which sounds ridiculous, because if any of us screws up it’s all over anyways.”

“Bobbi,” May said carefully. “Do you think your decision to give Isabelle up when was born was wrong?”

She was silent for a long moment. “No. I don't know. Whenever Hunter and I fight I always end up defending it, but with him it's like I'm not allowed to have a gray area; it has to be black and white.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Maybe I am rethinking it. Hunter brings up good points, and…”

“Bobbi, do you trust me?” May asked. 

“Yes. Even if we haven't stayed in touch much over the years, we were close once,” Bobbi reminded her. 

“Then hear me. You made the right decision.”

“But how can you know that—?”

“Because I know what your situation was. Because I know how unequipped you were to take care of a baby. Because I knew you back then, and I can tell you you weren't ready.”

“Not ready?”

“Not ready.”

“Please, elaborate,” Bobbi deadpanned. 

“Not ready after everything that went down with your ex-husband. Not ready to leave your life’s work with S.H.I.E.L.D. Not ready to share your life with your family. Did you ever tell your parents you were pregnant?”

“No,” Bobbi admitted quietly. 

“Because there was already so much of your life you couldn't tell them about. Because you hadn't yet learned how to balance keeping the necessary secrets while connecting and sharing yourself with the outside world.” May stopped for a few seconds, then continued. “And not ready because deep down you knew your all wasn't enough to give to this child.” Bobbi made a small indignant noise in her throat even as May added, “I know that feeling.” 

“After Bahrain?” Bobbi asked softly. “I know you and Andrew were trying…”

“Yes,” came the specialist’s clipped response. There was a pause, then she continued in her normal speaking voice. “You would have given your all. I’m not saying you wouldn't have. But it would have been a lonely life, for both of you. Trust in yourself, in the decision you made four years ago. Nobody but you could possibly know all of the circumstances of that time, and even now it must be hard to recall your exact mindset. But that same mindset is the one you would have taken into parenthood, raised Isabelle with. You made the right choice for you and for her, Bobbi.”

“But why are you telling me this now?” Bobbi asked.

“Because you're ready now. And you need to believe in yourself, including your past choices, to convince the social worker of that.”

She took a deep breath. “That does help. Thank you.” The doorbell rang, jerking her into attentiveness again, and something clattered loudly onto the counter in the kitchen. “Got to go,” Bobbi said. 

“You're ready,” May told her. 

“I'm ready,” she repeated, ending the call. She set the phone down and then headed to the kitchen, and together they answered the door. Her fingers were laced through his again as he pulled the door open. 

A woman stood there with a polite smile already on her face, a collection of organized paperwork tucked under one arm. “Hello, Ms. Morse?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Bobbi said, breaking her connection with Hunter to hold out her hand. “It's nice to meet you.” 

Janet accepted her hand and shook it. “Then you must be Mr. Hunter, the father,” she said, releasing Bobbi’s hand to shake his too. “I’m Janet Marchese, the social worker assigned to Isabelle’s case,” she introduced herself. “But you can call me Janet like the kids do.”

Hunter nodded, then stepped backwards and gestured inside. “Come on in.”

“Thanks for coming,” Bobbi added. 

Janet smiled as she stepped in. “Thank you for having me.” She gave a quick glance around before looking at the two of them, waiting to be directed. 

Bobbi led the way to the dining room, and all three of them took seats at the table. “Isabelle’s in her room playing. I can get her if…?” 

Janet smiled. “That won’t be necessary yet. Let her play for now.” She placed the papers in a single pile on the table in front of her before opening up a notepad, and Bobbi’s heart began to beat measurably faster. “How has the transition been, having Isabelle living with you?” she asked conversationally, directing the question to them both. 

“She's wonderful,” Bobbi said, looking at Hunter, barely able to hear the question—or herself, for that matter—over the thudding in her chest. “Having her here...it's been a big change, but just interacting with her is amazing.”

Hunter grinned, nodding. “Exactly what she said.”

Janet’s smile increased. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” She placed her hands down gently on the table, her body language signaling a start to the real business. “Since this is your first visit with a social worker, I’ll start by explaining some procedural information. I am going to go through a variety of questions with you regarding Isabelle, but the only person who needs to be present is you, Ms. Morse.”

“Wait, but I’m trying to gain custody too,” Hunter said, looking at Janet confusedly. 

“I’m aware,” Janet nodded. “However, legally you never gave up your parental rights to the state, and thus don’t need quite as lengthy a process to regain custody.”

“So how does that work for me then?” Bobbi asked. Hunter squeezed her hand under the table. “Because I was the one who gave her up, what do I have to do?”

“As long as I deem you fit after this meeting, Isabelle will remain with the both of you,” Janet assured her. “But I will need to conduct another house visit in six months before the adoption can be finalized, as well as do two individual interviews with you, Ms. Morse, in the interim.” 

Bobbi nodded. “Will Hunter gain custody before I’m cleared to?”

“No,” Janet shook her head. “The last step is the house visit, so I’ll inform you after then whether the adoption can go through, at which point you will get approval from a judge to make it official.” She paused. “Do you have any more questions I can answer, or shall we begin?”

Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other. “I think we’re good,” he spoke for them both. “I’ll just go check on Isabelle before we start.” Janet gave him an understanding nod and he got up and headed to their daughter’s room. 

“Is there any time schedule I should be aware of for today?” the social worker asked. 

“No, we’re free all day,” Bobbi answered. 

With one nod, glanced at her watch and then picked up her pen. “I’ll start with some objective questions while we wait, just the basic stuff. Who lives in this household?”

“Just the three of us.”

She made a note on her pad. “Any relatives or family in the nearby area?”

“My parents live in Ohio and Hunter’s mum is back in England,” Bobbi replied. She suddenly wondered if not having family close to help was a mark against them. “But Hunter has a sister with two kids of her own—she’s about an hour and a half away, I think.” 

“And your and Mr. Hunter’s working hours? Are they flexible?”

“Fairly flexible between the two of us, yes,” Bobbi confirmed. “We are given the option of working from home two days a week each, and if there was ever an emergency it wouldn’t be that hard to get time off.”

“Your occupations?”

Her usual cover as a police detective definitely wasn’t going to work here. “I’m a geneticist, and Hunter works as an engineer.”

Janet nodded. “What about Isabelle’s medical records? Do you have a copy that I can look at?” Janet requested. Bobbi got it for her, and the woman began to scan quickly over it with her pen. “May I keep this for my records, or do you need it back?” 

“It’s yours,” she told her. 

“Thank you. Now, I see Isabelle is up-to-date on all of her immunizations and has no recorded long-term medical conditions. How has her health been, in your opinion, since you’ve had her?”

“Good. She hasn't gotten sick so far, and she doesn't have trouble with physical activity or anything like that,” Bobbi said. Hunter returned and sat back down next to her again. 

“She’s fine. Playing with Hoppity and Thor.” He glanced at Janet and clarified. “Her stuffed rabbit and monkey.”

Janet smiled. “Lovely. How would you classify the relationships between the three of you?”

It took her a minute to formulate an answer, but eventually she got it. “We both love Isabelle,” Bobbi said. “And she's beginning to view us as her mother and father. As for the two of us…” She glanced at Hunter. “We’re figuring things out. But both of us care too much about Isabelle to let anything that happens between us affect how we treat her.”

“Can you expand on that, please?” Janet asked politely, jotting a few things down. Bobbi tried to read what she was writing on her yellow legal pad, but between the—purposefully—messy handwriting, the odd angle at which she was trying to decipher it, and the discreet manner with which she was attempting her peek made it impossible to tell what she was writing down. 

“We were married, but we divorced before Isabelle was born,” Bobbi explained. “It was a mistake, but I never told him that I was pregnant. When he found out a few weeks ago, Hunter was understandably angry, but we’ve worked through a lot of it since then. We make a point never to fight in front of Isabelle though, or within her earshot. No matter what happens between us, she comes first.” Hunter glanced at her, obviously feeling the need to jump in a bit here. She only hoped it was to show solidarity. 

Whatever fears she had about it were unfounded. “There's a lot of history between us,” he began. “We’ve done being in love to never wanting to see each other again and everything in between. And now we’re...trying it again. But whether we end up back at the altar or just as friends and co-parents, we’ll always be connected through Isabelle.”

“We’re committed to her,” Bobbi added helpfully.

“How would you describe her behavior since she’s been in your care?” Janet asked.

“Well-behaved,” Bobbi replied immediately. “We have real had any problems so far, and nothing that a slightly raised voice and a talking-to didn't take care of.”

“What indicators have you identified to work out how she is feeling?”

“She gets clingy when she's sad or scared,” Bobbi said somberly. 

“And usually she’ll tell us when she's hungry or thirsty,” Hunter added. 

“She sounds like a vocal young girl,” Janet observed. “Have you identified any triggers for her that would cause her to feel sad or scared?”

“She can get sad when something reminds of her old home, and we try to respect that,” Bobbi answered. 

“How has she settled in? How often does she talk about her old family or friends she left behind?” Janet asked.

“Family, yes. Friends I haven't noticed so much,” she revealed. “The first week or so was especially hard, because we ourselves were still trying to figure out what had happened. So we comfort her when that happens, but we don't try to make her forget about that part of her life—we felt it was important in the beginning that she didn't see us as replacements.”

“How are you two feeling about the whole situation?”

“I...I'm concentrating on making new memories with Isabelle, not focusing on the old. I don't resent her previous family—they took care of her when I couldn't.”

Hunter nodded. “Same, about the memories. And I’m trying to be someone she trusts, most of all.”

“Looking back, if you could, would you change anything?” Janet asked, looking directly at Bobbi. 

May’s advice came back to her. “No. I always did what I thought was best for her. Except...I would have told Hunter. What I did was never fair to him.” She glanced at him to see him nod his thanks almost imperceptibly. 

“The two of you being divorced, does that affect how you treat each other in a way that Isabelle might notice, now or someday?”

“Like I said, before...we’re working it out,” Bobbi said. 

Hunter picked up her slack. “No more than any parents would. No child can grow up in a house with absolutely no disagreements, whether their parents have a traditional marital situation or not. We’re not perfect, but we do our best.”

Janet finished up her last note and then drew a line through her pad, separating what she had previously written and what she was going to write next. She pulled a piece of white paper out of the stack she had next to her and slid it across the table to Bobbi. “Could you write her daily routine down here please?” 

“Sure,” Bobbi nodded, pulling the paper toward her and beginning to write. “She usually wakes up around six thirty to seven, sometimes as late as eight, so breakfast around then. Lunch around noon, depending on what we did that morning. And we usually have at least an hour of learning time in the afternoon—practicing letters, numbers, stuff like that. Dinner at six thirty, bathtime afterward, story time and bed around eight thirty.” She put the pen down again and slid the paper back to Janet. 

The social work perused it silently, then looked at both of them. “I’d like to talk about Isabelle’s eating habits. Is she a good or a fussy eater?”

“Good so far,” Bobbi smiled, happy to be moving away from the harder questions. “But we’ve discovered she hates broccoli but will eat kale with impunity.”

Janet returned her smile. “What are her favorite and least favorite things to eat?”

“She likes sugary cereals, which we’re now trying to curb,” Bobbi laughed, becoming more comfortable in the woman’s presence. “Apples too, which we’re much more a fan of. The only thing she’s disliked yet is broccoli, actually.”

“In terms of Isabelle’s eating habits, how much does she eat, how often and how long does it take her?” Janet asked, seeming to mush three related questions together. They seemed odd questions to Bobbi—what did their ability to be responsible parents to Isabelle have to do with any of that, unless the point was that they’d paid attention to it enough to answer them? 

Bobbi smiled nervously. “I'm not quite sure how to quantify it. As for time, she usually keeps pace with us.”

Janet nodded understandingly. “For most of the questions I’ll ask, there isn’t an exact answer I want. I just want to get a general idea.”

“She likes a large breakfast and dinner, not so much lunch. Usually we feed her juice or milk and fruit with breakfast, fruit with lunch, and definitely a vegetable with dinner. Sometimes she asks for more, sometimes not—I think depending on how much we tired her out that day.” 

Janet glanced at her watch again, something which would have been subtle had Bobbi not been a trained, elite spy. It was like she was timing something. Oh.  _ Oh _ . “You mentioned educational activities earlier, can you elaborate on them?” the social worker asked. 

“Practicing letters or counting, writing her name, identifying colors, a bit of reading,” Bobbi listed off. “Some basic addition and subtraction with concrete objects, although that's a bit more advanced.”

“How is her writing and drawing abilities? Do you have any examples you can show me?”

“Sure,” Bobbi stood up. “Let me get them.” She walked out of the room and then returned with a small stack of papers, which she placed down on the table. “Excuse me for a minute while I check on Isabelle.” She gave a light laugh. “We don't usually leave her alone for all that long, so I guess it’s making me a bit nervous.”

Janet nodded, glanced down at her watch again, made a note on her pad, and then took it upon herself to look through the artwork. “There’s quite a bit here. How often do you sit and draw with her?” she asked. 

Bobbi heard Hunter answer as she walked out of the room. “She loves to draw, but not by herself. She likes doing her own and then ‘fixing’ ours. So we spend a lot of time doing that.” 

She walked towards Isabelle’s room to find her still playing with Hoppity and Thor. She squatted down by her daughter. “Everything okay, Isabelle?”

“Yep!” the girl chirped back happily. “Hoppity’s teaching Thor his ABCs, but he keep forgetting J like me.” She looked up at Bobbi. “Can I meet her?”

“Your social worker? Sure,” Bobbi smiled. “Come on.” She took her by the hand as the girl stood up, then led her out into the dining room. “She wanted to meet you,” she explained to Janet with a smile. 

Janet smiled warmly at Isabelle. “Hello, Isabelle, I’m Janet,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand much like she had to Bobbi and Hunter. 

“Hi,” Isabelle said shyly, putting her hand in Janet’s quickly and accepting the handshake before returning to Bobbi and wrapping her arms around her leg.

“I hear you like drawing; do you want to draw in here while I talk with your parents?” Janet offered, asking Isabelle directly. 

Isabelle looked at Hunter. “Daddy, will you draw with me?”

“Sure, love,” he replied, getting some paper. “Let's draw over here, okay?” 

“Okay!”

Janet waited until they had settled before turning back to Bobbi, “How is her reading ability?” she asked, no longer using Isabelle’s name. 

“She prefers it when we read to her, but we encourage her to do it as well. She can read basic sentences, but not more than that.”

“There’s no preschool listed. What are you educational plans for her?” 

“We've been researching preschools like the one she was enrolled in before, but we do want to have some time with her to get to know her on our own before then. We’re thinking of enrolling her in the spring through summer, and then of course she’ll start kindergarten next August at the nearby public elementary school.”

Janet nodded. “What activities does she like, or are ones you’re interested in putting her in?” 

“She likes running around, definitely. Kicking a soccer—” she glanced furtively at Hunter, who shot her a teasing scowl back, “—soccer ball in the backyard. Besides that, we plan on having her try out gymnastics and martial arts, but of course it depends on what she wants to do,” Bobbi answered. 

“Has she been taught to swim?”

She frowned. “I actually don't know, as it’s fall. But if she hasn't, that's definitely something we’re going to teach her this next summer.”

“All right, I think that’s enough questions for now,” Janet said, setting down her pen. “I’d love a tour of the house, if that’s all right. Specifically the kitchen, bathroom, and her room.” 

“Of course,” Bobbi said, standing up. “We’ll be back, Isabelle.”

“She wants to see my room?” the girl asked, looking between the two of them. 

“Why yes, I do,” Janet said. “Want to show it to me?”

“Okay!” she agreed happily, leaping up from her seat and scampering off towards her room. Janet followed with a smile, Bobbi and Hunter trailing not too far after her. 

“This is Hoppity, and this is Thor,” Isabelle introduced her to her stuffed animals. “And that's Rapunzel.” She pointed to the large  _ Tangled _ poster on the wall. 

“You have a lovely room,” Janet complimented her, making Isabelle smile and duck behind her mother’s legs again. Bobbi picked her up and Isabelle latched her arms around her neck as they made their way to the bathroom, where Janet opened a few cupboards and looked at their various shampoos and conditioners. After that was the kitchen, where she investigated the childproofing on their drawers, making notes on her pad the whole time, even when Isabelle kicked her legs a little and Bobbi set her down again. If she wasn't mistaken, Janet was also noting at the state of their outlets and surge suppressors as well, and also the smoke and carbon monoxide alarms.

“Just one thing left for today,” Janet said when they got back to the table. She squatted down at Isabelle’s level. “Would it be all right if I talked to you for a few minutes alone?”

The girl shook her head, eyes wide. 

“She’s a bit shy ‘round new people,” Hunter supplied helpfully. “What if we were still in the room, love?” 

“Sure, would it be okay then?” Janet asked. Isabelle thought about it for a minute and then nodded. “Great,” she smiled. Bobbi pulled out a seat of Isabelle at the table, hand lingering a few seconds longer than necessary on her daughter’s back before she retreated to the counter with Hunter. “Actually, could you stand outside her field of vision?” Janet requested. Bobbi and Hunter repositioned themselves. “Thank you.”

Isabelle squirmed in her seat, twisting to look at the two of them in their new location. Bobbi felt bad for her, knowing how much she didn't like being alone with strangers since Ward. But she couldn't exactly explain that whole incident to the social worker so she kept silent. “It's all right, love,” Hunter assured her from behind. “We’re right here.”

“Nothing scary’s going to happen,” Janet promised. “I just want to ask you some questions about your new home.” Isabelle just watched her. “Do you like living here?”

She nodded, little fingers fisting the hem of her shirt. 

“What about Bobbi and Lance?” Janet asked. “They take good care of you?”

“Yeah,” Isabelle said. 

“Is there anything here that makes you feel unsafe or scared?”

The girl squirmed in her seat and ducked her head again, and Bobbi waited with baited breath for her to say something about Ward, the man who had terrorized her probably more than she’d ever experienced. “The dark,” Isabelle revealed finally. 

“Well, that's okay, I was scared of the dark when I was little too,” Janet told her kindly. “Who do you go to when you feel scared?” Isabelle turned and pointed to Bobbi and Hunter. “And they help you feel safe again?” Another nod. “How?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. They hold me.”

Janet prompted her, “Anything else?” 

“Daddy makes me laugh,” Isabelle said. “And they hug me.” 

“What about Mommy?” Janet asked. 

“She kisses my head and says she loves me,” Isabelle replied. “Then I feel better. I don't like being scared.” 

Janet smiled. “I can understand that. Let's move onto something happier then.What do you do for fun?”

“Draw,” the girl supplied shyly, and then with growing confidence, “and we read books about a mouse or a moon or Piggy and when Skye and Leo aren't busy we play or watch  _ Tangled _ .” Bobbi felt Hunter’s body stiffen beside her. Less dire of a slip-up than mentioning the fact that living with them had put her in the crosshairs of a psychopath… She found herself thinking that if Isabelle ever became a spy herself she would inform her about this moment: her first botched cover. Then Bobbi frowned. Did she even want their daughter following in their footsteps? Putting herself in danger every day, risking her life for someone else’s mission? Her lips quirked upwards again only when it occurred to her that this had been one of Hunter’s arguments to her almost verbatim back when they were married. She’d shut him down because she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. 

If Isabelle ever did decide to become like her, Bobbi resolved that she would just have to train her until she was absolutely capable of the same. 

“Skye and Leo?” Janet asked, increasing the tight feeling in Bobbi’s chest. “Tell me about them.”

“They're my friends,” Isabelle told her seriously. “They're awesome. Next time Skye said she’d teach me how to play Sequence.”

“That's wonderful, Isabelle,” Janet smiled. “Are you happy here?” 

Isabelle nodded and somehow Hunter’s hand was in here again, both of them smiling like Christmas has come early. 

“All right, I think that’s all I need then,” Janet said, looking back at Bobbi and Hunter for the first time since starting the interview with Isabelle. The girl happily clamored out of the chair, in such a hurry that she might have fallen down on her face had Hunter not scooped her up and hugged her. 

“I love you too, you know,” he whispered close to her ear, tickling her sides. She burst into peals of laughter, struggling to free herself from the self-proclaimed tickle monster. When he finally stopped she gazed happily at him, breathing heavily with rosy cheeks. 

She bopped him on the nose. “I know!”

Bobbi laughed at their antics before turning her attention to Janet. “Who are Skye and Leo?” Janet asked. 

“We thought she might be a little lonely when she first arrived so we invited some close friends over,” Bobbi covered quickly. 

“Friends with kids,” Hunter added. 

Isabelle added credence to their words without knowing it. "Skye loves to watch Disney movies just like me! And Leo has the coolest toys." Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other, resolving to make sure Isabelle knows things in the lab were  _ not _ toys later. 

“All right,” Janet smiled, making one last note on her pad before closing it and setting it on top of the stack of paperwork.

“When will we know the results?” Bobbi asked. 

“You'll receive a copy of my official report in about a week, but I can tell you now that I see nothing here that would make me want to place Isabelle with any other family so far,” Janet told her warmly. “Your marital situation is somewhat unconventional, but legally there is no custody issue seeing as Mr. Hunter never gave up his parental rights. I'll check back in in six months, and in the meantime you can set up an individual appointment with my office.” She fished her business card out of the stack of papers and handed it to Bobbi before holding out her hand. “It was wonderful meeting you, Ms. Morse.” 

She shook it. “You too; thank you.” 

Janet repeated the process with Hunter and waved goodbye to Isabelle. When the door was shut behind her, Bobbi met Hunter and Isabelle in the kitchen. The girl held her arms out to her and Bobbi took her, settling her weight on her hip. “I like her,” Isabelle said. “Janet’s nice.”

“I'm glad you think so,” Bobbi laughed. “This won't be the last time you see her. You did really well while she was here, Isabelle, thank you.”

“So I can stay with you?” their daughter asked, looking up at her. Bobbi was surprised at the loaded question—apparently their point about the stakes from a few nights ago had stuck—but answered it anyway. 

“Yes, you’re staying with us,” Bobbi promised. 

“When’s she coming back?” the girl wanted to know.

“Not for a long while,” Hunter supplied. 

Bobbi smiled. “So for now, it's time to go home.”


	26. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi, Hunter, and Isabelle return to the base - and some old friends come to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _is_ the one you've been waiting for, Nazezdha321.

“That the last box?” Hunter asked her as she set it down gently in the trunk. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. 

“How the hell’d we get so much stuff?” he grumbled, peering inside the packed rear of the vehicle. 

“I seem to remember you joining Isabelle in the many choruses of ‘I want it,’” Bobbi smirked. 

“We said ‘please,’” Hunter defended. 

“Only because I made you.”

“Touché.”

“So we’re ready to go?” Bobbi asked. 

“I am if you are,” Hunter said. He glanced back at the house. “I guess this...this is what we could have had.” 

“Don't,” Bobbi told him. 

Hunter shook his head. “Right, sorry. I'll check and make sure we haven't forgotten anything; you get Isabelle.”

“Okay,” Bobbi agreed, following him back into the house. “Isabelle, time to leave!” She headed to her room, finding her standing in its doorway. She knelt down next to her. “Hey, you ready to go?” 

“Do we have to?” the girl asked her, looking at her and then back at her now-bare room. 

“Yes,” Bobbi said gently. “But all your stuff will be there too. You can decorate the room just like this one.”

Isabelle faced her hopefully. “I get my own room?” 

She paused, thinking it over. With the right security measures… “Sure,” Bobbi promised. “Just like here.”

“But there won't be a backyard.”

“We’ll take you to the park a lot,” Bobbi told her. 

Isabelle smiled. “I like the park.”

“Deal,” she said with a smile. “Now, are you sure you don't have to go to the bathroom before we leave?”

The girl bounced a little on her feet. “Yes.” 

“Why don't you go try anyways,” Bobbi laughed, giving her a little push and watching the girl run off towards the bathroom. 

Finally they were all strapped in and ready to go. Hunter started the car and began backing out of the driveway. He glanced back at Isabelle through the mirror. “Say, ‘Bye-bye, house!’” he prompted. 

“Bye-bye, house!” she repeated eagerly, gazing out the window at it. Then Thor and Hoppity proceeded to have a safari adventure in the back while Hunter drove and Bobbi did some work on her tablet. She soon got bored of that and began belting out Tangled songs with no music, a sound that from Hunter’s expression would have made him stuff his fists in his ears had he not been using them to drive. 

“I'm hungry,” Isabelle said just as they were nearing the entrance to the base. 

Bobbi checked the time. “You're in luck, it's just about dinner time,” she told her. Hunter pulled into the garage and stopped the car, and almost immediately Isabelle began futzing with her seatbelt. “Hold on, hold on, I'm coming,” she laughed, unlocking all the doors and putting her hand in the door handle. 

Before she or Hunter could do anything, however, the passenger door on Isabelle’s side slid open with a bang and a loud, “BOO!”

“Ahh!!!” Isabelle shrieked, and Bobbi’s head hit the ceiling. Hunter was saved from such a fate due to his lack of height. 

“Mack!” Bobbi gasped, opening the door and sliding out of the car. “Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Do it again, do it again!” Isabelle cheered, bouncing up and down in her seat. 

“I'm with Bob, mate,” Hunter said, coming around the back. 

Mack grinned. “Fine.” He leaned in close to Isabelle. “I'll get you again some other time,” he stage whispered. She kicked her feet happily, and Bobbi rolled her eyes.

Mack unbuckled her and lifted her out of the car seat, swinging her around before setting her down on the floor. On mutual consent they decided to leave the stuff in the car until they unloaded it later, and the three of them trooped towards the door. As they approached it, Isabelle released Mack’s hand to latch onto Bobbi’s leg. 

“Are you nervous?” Bobbi asked, stopping just short of it. Isabelle nodded. “But you love Skye and Leo and Jemma.”

“Maybe they've forgotten about me,” the girl suggested in a small voice, looking up at her with her chin pressed into the meat of her thigh. 

“Don't be silly,” Bobbi said with a reassuring smile, ruffling her hair. “You just talked to them two days ago, remember?” She took Isabelle’s hand in hers and Hunter pushed the door open. The hall was quiet. 

“They're all at dinner,” Mack told them, pressing forward as if undeterred by the emptiness. That struck Bobbi as odd—why was the rest of the team at dinner but not Mack?

They walked into the kitchen to see a huge banner strung across the ceiling, reading  _ WELCOME HOME, ISABELLE!  _ “Surprise!” a chorus of Skye, Simmons, Fitz, Trip, and Coulson shouted, jumping out into plain view. A huge smile overtook Isabelle’s face and she ran forward to give them all a hug. 

Skye came over and nearly startled Bobbi by enveloping her in a hug as well afterward, and so did Simmons and—most awkwardly—Fitz. “What, everyone gets hugs but me?” Hunter complained. 

Skye wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, no one wants to hug you, Hunter,” she teased. 

“Food’s almost ready!” Coulson announced. Bobbi looked around for Isabelle and spotted her accepting a lollipop from May and then running off again. 

“Giving her candy right before dinner?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow as she sidled over. “They’ll say you're getting soft, Agent May.”

“Oh, shut up, Agent Morse,” the woman said, turning away with a hint of a smile. She turned back. “Before I forget, we fixed your room while you were gone, and we set up one next to it of you want for Isabelle. It has an alarm sensor for whenever the door is opened that can go right to your phone.” 

“That sounds perfect, thank you,” Bobbi smiled. “Isabelle was saying she wanted her own room when we moved back here…”

“Dinner!” Coulson called, and everyone gradually began gravitating towards the long table as he carried over dishes of food in oven mitts. Isabelle ended up seated between Skye and Trip as May and FitzSimmons carted over plates, silverware, and serving utensils. Mack cracked open two liter bottles of soda and filled glasses, making Bobbi laugh and shake her head—they were never getting Isabelle to sleep tonight. But as she looked around at all of them, that was okay. They were home. 

* * *

As it turned out, Bobbi was half right. Isabelle was exhausted after all the celebrating, even with the amount of sugar flooding her system. She just nodded and agreed sleepily as Bobbi explained the rules of having her own room—no leaving at night except for emergencies, and she could still wake Bobbi up if she needed anything, anything at all. After reading her nightly bedtime story, Bobbi and Hunter parted ways to get some sleep as well. It had been an equally stressful if not more stressful day for them than Isabelle, what with the social worker’s visit and everything. 

It wa some ungodly hour of night that Bobbi’s phone pinged, waking her instantly. She rolled over to see that Isabelle’s door had been opened, and before alarm could really spread through her body there was a twisting of her door handle and Isabelle poked her head in. “What’s wrong?” Bobbi whispered, sliding her legs out of bed and coming over, blinking sleepily. 

“Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom,” Isabelle told her earnestly, wiggling a little bit in her pajamas. Ah, the soda.

The mundaneness of it made Bobbi smile. “But there's a bathroom in your room, remember?”

Isabelle shifted again. “It's dark and I can't reach the light switch.”

“Oh,” Bobbi said. “Yeah, of course. Come on.” She led the girl by the hand back into her room and flipped on the light for her. “I'm sure Fitz can rewire this soon so you can reach it.”

“Okay,” Isabelle agreed. When she was done, Bobbi made to tuck her back in bed again. “I can't go back to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“I'm hungry,” Isabelle told her. 

“Breakfast is in the morning—oh, all right,” Bobbi said, letting her scamper out of bed again. “But no more soda with dinner, got it? It fills you up so there's not enough room for real food.”

Isabelle just laughed as if what she had just said was funny for some reason. “Toast?” she asked. 

“Sure, I'll make you a piece of toast,” Bobbi agreed, taking Isabelle’s hand in hers and walking out the door. The hallway outside was dimly lit for operational purposes, so there was no need for a flashlight. 

A flicker of movement caught in her eye in the otherwise empty corridor. “May?” Bobbi called out uncertainly. The stoic, night-owl-and-early-bird specialist was the only one she could think of who would be roaming around at this ungodly hour of night. There was no answer, and the skin on Bobbi’s arms prickled. She slowed Isabelle to a full stop with an hand protectively crossed over her daughter’s chest. She wished she hadn’t left her staves in her room.

Bobbi waited, listening. Something around the corner clinked, and all doubt left her mind—there was someone out there. “Isabelle,” Bobbi said, turning to her daughter and trying to maintain a calm, non-scary voice. Even so, her tone was deathly quiet. “Go back to your room, now.”

“But I want toast—”

“Go!” Bobbi commanded. “And lock the door behind you, liked I showed you. Don’t let anybody in but me or Hunter. Go!” She shoved her daughter backwards and Isabelle took off down the hallway towards their quarters. Once she was safely out of sight, Bobbi crept forward again. The sounds had stopped—it was likely whoever it was knew she was here. Bobbi peeked out around the small corner, body surging with nervous, anticipatory adrenaline. Nothing.

A blurred red-and-black shape sprang down from the ceiling, knocking her down to the ground, flat on her back across the floor. A sharp hand pressed against her throat. “Natasha?” Bobbi wheezed out. She thrust upwards with her legs against the ground, launching her assailant over her, and ducked out of the way of the crashing limbs. Bobbi struggled to her feet, trying to get air to move normally through to her starved lungs again.

Her attacker did a short, controlled barrel roll before spinning out and leaping back into a fighting position. “Bobbi?”

“What the hell, Natasha?” Bobbi demanded, dropping her guard fully. “What are you doing lurking around like that and attacking me?!”

“I didn’t know it was you,” the Black Widow said, the closest Bobbi was going to get to an apology. Romanoff shrugged, looking around. “So this is the Playground. I was expecting more slides and swing sets.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Is Clint with you?”

“He’s raiding the food. Nothing but scentless division C rations for the last two and a half weeks, and you know how much he hates those. I went looking for Coulson.”

“He’s asleep,” Bobbi told her. “They all are; it’s three in the morning.”

“One PM in Bishkek,” Romanoff shrugged again.

“Uzbekistan?”

“Kyrgyzstan,” the Black Widow told her. “Thought you said you were top of your class in geography at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy?”

“Been a while,” Bobbi smiled ruefully. “Besides, you were always the one they sent into Russia and the Middle East. I got France, Italy, England…” She remembered Isabelle. “Hold on, I’ll be right back, and then I’ll take you to Coulson,” she said.

“I’ll drag Clint’s ass out of the refrigerator; don't want him eating all your food,” Natasha agreed. “But no, I wouldn't want to wake anyone. We’ll just...hang out until morning.”

“Hang out?” Bobbi questioned.

Natasha grinned. “See you at breakfast.”

“But what are you doing here?” Bobbi asked, but Romanoff didn't look back. “And how did you get in without tripping any of the sensors,” she muttered to herself, returning to Isabelle’s room. She knocked on the door. “Isabelle, it's okay, it's me.” It opened, revealing her daughter’s worried face. “Nothing to be scared about after all,” Bobbi assured her. “Some old friends came to visit, that's all.”

“Old friends?” Isabelle asked, as if she didn't quite believe her.

“Yes. Now, do you still want some toast?”

She shook her head. “‘M not hungry anymore.” Tugging on her hand to pull her further inside, Isabelle asked, “Will you stay with me?”

“They wouldn't hurt you,” Bobbi reminded her. “But okay, just for tonight.” Isabelle hugged her and then led her to the bed, which was big enough for them both to curl up in comfortably.

She was just about to drift off to sleep with Isabelle tucked into her side when she realized that today, at three in the morning with a full bladder, was the first time Isabelle had ever called her ‘Mommy.’


	27. Hawkeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Clint have a chance to catch up.

By the time Bobbi and Isabelle—mostly Isabelle, with Bobbi a few disgruntled seconds later—woke up in the morning, the base had been completely transformed by the Black Widow and Hawkeye’s presence. Most of the good food in the refrigerator had been eaten, and it was replaced with smoothie glasses of sludge-like green drinks which Bobbi surmised were some blend of kale. The gym was a mess—all of the treadmills were set to top speeds and the climbing bars looked like a monkey had gotten to them and then decided they weren’t challenging enough. On the floor below the start of the ladder was a small, scattered pile of screws, and all over the walls the bars had been moved to odd, awkward angles. Some were even trick bars, as they came out of the stone when one placed any significant amount of weight on them—thus the smattering of leftover screws. Bobbi felt bad for Mack, who’d made this discovery the hard way while trying to repair the damage. He was in the med lab getting his shoulder looked at now.

Three of their five punching bags had been taped up over what looked like arrow-holes, and the Netflix account in the den had been inundated with new shows in the previously watched list, some of which—Fitz protested loudly when he found out—they hadn’t had the chance to see yet. To Simmons’s dismay, all the chemicals and boxes of things in the lab were in the wrong place or helter-skelter around the room—“Barton had a papercut and needed a band-aid,” Natasha would explain later.

And perhaps worst of all, for the sake of the team’s sanity at least, someone had broken into Hunter’s secret stash of alcohol and left nothing but a sealed bottle of cheap champagne behind.

Three guesses who.

Oh, and don't forget the small pawprints all over the floor of the living space. That was the one part Bobbi didn't even  _ want _ to know about at breakfast the next morning.

“Thanks for the heads up, Bobbi,” May said, her voice low and sarcastic as she finished detailing the status of the base. 

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I should have woken you last night, apparently.”

“Where’s Isabelle?” May asked.

“With Hunter. Apparently now that she's done it once with him she's decided he's better at helping her pick out clothes to wear,” Bobbi answered with a roll of her eyes. “Go figure.”

“Do they know?” May asked quietly, running the water to wash her hands at the sink. Bobbi shook her head and the specialist stepped away, back to the table as if that conversation hadn't existed at all.

“So Fury sent you?” Coulson asked Barton. They were seated across from each other with Romanoff next to Clint. “That would explain how you found our super secret base.”

“It still amazes me that he keeps coming up with new ones,” Clint nodded, breaking apart a waffle with his hands and dipping it in the small puddle of syrup on his plate. Natasha glanced at his unused fork and then shot him a disparaging look, but he ignored her. “We’re only here until Fury calls us in again, which should be in a couple days.”

“Why did you come in he first place?” Skye asked, then ducked her head. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Simmons jumped in. “Not complaining at all! It's an honor to have you here, and to meet you, really. We expected you'd be out sniping people with arrows and killing them with bits of string...” She suddenly grew alarmed. “Oh, that came out wrong, didn't it? I shouldn't have said that! I'm sure you two don't do as much killing as the old S.H.I.E.L.D. rumors say, and when it did happen I'm certain they were very bad people—couldn't be helped, no, not at all…” Simmons trailed off, looking at Fitz and mouthing  _ Help me! _

Luckily, Natasha decided to put her out of her misery. “Going home wasn't safe, and the next best place was here. We’re all on the same side anyway.”

May sat down next to Coulson. “Must be bad if you're here. How do you know we’re not bringing them to our doorstep?”

Romanoff smiled. “We know.”

“All right, all right, we’ll run!” Hunter’s voice interrupted them. Less than a second later he was coming around the corner into the kitchen in a stunted run, dragged along by Isabelle, and almost tripping over her when she skidded to a stop at the sight every face—including the new ones—turned to look at her. “She couldn’t wait to meet ‘Mommy’s friends,’” Hunter explained, putting air quotes around the words. His gaze hardened at the sight of Barton, but he didn't say anything.

“Wait...Mommy?” Natasha asked, twisting around to look at Bobbi.

Bobbi gave a nervous smile, nodding. “Yeah.” She went over to stand by Isabelle, placing a hand on her opposite shoulder. Isabelle’s arms snaked around her leg. “Clint, Natasha, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Isabelle.” For probably the third time in her life, Bobbi thought Natasha Romanoff looked shocked. Clint recovered first, a massive grin sprouting on his face, he stood up from the table, coming over and kneeling down in front of her so that their faces were at about the same height.

“Hi Isabelle, I’m Clint,” he said, holding out his hand.

“You’re Mommy’s friend?” she asked, not taking it.

“Yep,” he answered, glancing up at Bobbi amusedly. That glance was his downfall, as he was immediately engulfed in as giant a bear hug as Isabelle could muster, nearly bowling him over.

“Hi, I’m Isabelle!” she chattered, releasing him. “Mommy’s friends are the best people ever, so you must be too!”

“Hey, what about Daddy’s friends?” Hunter teased, smiling in spite of himself.

She looked at him. “What friends?” she asked innocently. Skye nearly choked on her mouthful of food and had to be pounded on the back by Fitz. Isabelle just looked around, confused about why they were all laughing.

“Isabelle, that’s not very nice,” Bobbi tried to admonish, still chortling. Looking around, it was true—she  _ had  _ introduced Isabelle to everyone here.

“Why?” the girl tilted her head. “Daddy, you’re Mommy’s friend, so you’re the best too.”

“Thanks, love,” Hunter said, kissing the top of her head. He turned to the two Avengers. “Before I forget, thanks for New York.”

“Four years old, almost five?” Natasha asked Bobbi quietly. She hadn’t even noticed her get out of her chair, but she nodded.

Looking almost reluctant, Natasha squatted down in front of Isabelle too, Clint moving silently out of the way. “I’m Natasha,” she said quietly. The girl seemed a little discomfited by this less-than-warm—less than Clint’s anyway—greeting, so she cautiously held out her hand. Natasha shook it and then stood up, returning to her seat.

“So Isabelle, what do you like to do?” Clint asked, patting the seat next to him on the opposite side from Natasha. “You can come sit next to me if you want.”

Isabelle took Hunter’s hand and tugged him over to the table with her, scooting in next to Clint. “I like to draw,” she informed him.

They continued talking as Bobbi got Isabelle some food, coming back in time to see Natasha leaning over to May. “Spar in the gym?” she asked in a low voice. “I haven’t had a good sparring partner in a while except for Barton. The Cavalry could—”

“Never call me that,” May growled. She pursed her lips and then nodded. They both stood up from the table in tandem.

“Are you—” Simmons began.

“—going to fight?” Fitz finished.

“And can we watch?” Skye asked. The three of them quailed under the combined gazes of the specialist and the assassin. “Or not…”

“Come along,” May said. The young scientists and hacker grinned, following happily.

“I’d love to stay, but I have work to do,” Coulson said, gazing after them. “And so do they, but...I won’t deny them a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He bused his plate before heading out, leaving just Hunter, Bobbi, Isabelle, and the archer.

“Clint, if you’re done with breakfast and want to catch up, we can,” Bobbi offered, nodding her head slightly toward the lounge about ten minutes later. Hunter gave her a less-than-happy glance, but she ignored him. His rivalry with Clint...well, she’d been putting up with it for years; it wasn't going to prevent her from talking alone with a good friend.

Clint looked up from a deep conversation with Isabelle over the merits of crayons vs. colored pencils. “Sure, Bob.” He addressed Isabelle. “See you again later, princess.”

“Bye!” Isabelle chirped.

“So how long have you…” Clint asked as they sat down in the lounge.

“A few weeks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?” he asked.

“Says the man who took three years to tell his partner about his two kids,” Bobbi scoffed.

Barton smiled. “Guilty. But I told you after three years, Isabelle is, what, four? That’s longer.”

“Yes, well...after giving her up, telling people about her was the last thing I wanted to do. Even you,” Bobbi admitted. “But now we’re here, and we both have a kid or two. How the hell did that happen?”

Clint’s lips turned upwards, “I think you’re old enough now. When a man and a woman love each other a lot, they—”

“Shut up!” She hit him in the shoulder, laughing. 

He fended her off, eventually raising his hands in defeat. “But really, congratulations. Isabelle’s adorable. And she looks a helluva lot like you, Bobbi—she's gonna be a real heartbreaker someday.”

“Lila too,” she told him with a laugh, “with those big brown eyes and—”

“Lila is not going to be around any boys but me and Cooper until she's thirty,” Clint said flatly. “I'll shoot them before they get to the door.”

“We can't keep them locked up forever,” Bobbi sighed. “Didn't you see  _ Tangled _ ?” She stopped. “Oh shit, I've started referencing Disney movies while talking to an adult.”

“There's some debate on that front—my adulthood,” Clint joked, “mostly from Laura and Nat.”

“Naturally,” Bobbi teased. “But really, we must be crazy—you with your Avenging, me with the spying and rebuilding of S.H.I.E.L.D.…”

“Hey, we didn't sign up for the easy life,” he reminded her. “You're not thinking of having another one, are you? You and Hunter I assume are…” He made a little twirling motion with his hand.

“We’re back together, mostly,” she told him. “...It’s complicated. But hold your horses, Barton, another kid? No. We’re hardly handling one; we definitely would not have another any time soon.”

“Well you're going to think I'm crazy then—Laura just told me a week ago; she’s pregnant.” He leaned in slowly, dramatically, and then whispered, “ _ They’re going to outnumber us _ .”

“That's amazing, Clint, congratulations!” Bobbi hugged him. “You'll be fine; you're a great father.”

“Laura’s a great mother,” Clint said, reclining back in his chair again, shaking his head but smiling broadly. “I couldn't do it without her. Whoa!” It was more a command than a shout of alarm. His head twisted to the right and he sprang out of his chair. Bobbi had to admit she jumped at his sudden movement, unable to do anything but watch as he sped over to the entrance to the hallway and scooped up a black shape that gave a small yowl in protest.

“What the hell is that?” Bobbi asked as he stood up with it in his arms, turning back around.

“Natasha’s cat,” Clint grumbled. He yelped and looked down at the furball in his arms. “Liho! Yeah, I know you might think kneading your claws into my muscle is a sign of affection, but it isn't. Why can't you just lick me to show your love like a normal pet?” he said sternly to the cat.

“I take it you're more of a dog person than a cat person?” Bobbi asked, trying not to laugh.

“Yes—ouch—” He dropped the cat, who took off into the kitchen and out of sight. “Fine, go where you want, you dumb cat!” He looked at Bobbi. “Yes, dogs are much better than cats. I offered to get one to help protect the house but Lila’s allergic.”

“Since when does Natasha have a cat?” Bobbi questioned. “She doesn't seem the type to take on something that relies on her to be around...especially one that's small and furry.”

Clint nodded, agreeing. “Feed it...pet it...wake up to find it sitting on your chest in the middle of the night with a cold, wet nose poking yours…” He shuddered. “As you maybe can tell, I don't crash at Natasha’s much anymore.”

“The story of how she got the cat,” Bobbi prompted.

“Right. Natasha says Liho was a stray, hanging around outside of her apartment all the time...I don't know how, but he eventually got her to cave. She seems to have this deal with him—no biting, scratching, clawing, mewling, you name it—but when she's not around apparently it doesn't apply to the rest of us. Who she asks favors to feed the stupid thing on occasion,” Clint complained. “And the litter box, don't get me started—”

Bobbi smiled. “You've gotten fond of the cat, haven't you?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Don't tell Nat.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she chortled. “Speaking of Lila, do you think she would want a playdate with Isabelle sometime? Hunter and I want to get her playing more with other kids than just adults as soon as possible, but we can't risk her saying something outside the base that she's not supposed to. With your kids—”

“—it wouldn't be a problem,” Clint nodded. “Laura and I deal with the same thing with Cooper and Lila. We’d be thrilled to do something like that as often as possible. Just call up Laura when you want to do it.”

“We might be able to keep it a secret from the team, but I’d have to tell Hunter about you guys,” Bobbi told him. Clint made a face, and she rolled her eyes in response. “He's a lot more mature than you remember; I promise.”

“This is the man that after your divorce got booked after a bar fight and the only thing he would tell the cops was that ‘if the bloody apocalypse comes, government agents and their secrets are what caused it’?”

“Not one of his finer moments,” Bobbi admitted. “But it's been four years, Clint. He’s changed, for the better.”

Her old partner sighed. “Probably in large part because of Isabelle.” He paused, clearly thinking it over, and Bobbi remained silent. She didn't want to influence his decision any more than she already had—this was his family they were talking about, one layered in about as much secrecy as the nuclear codes for their protection. “Fine,” Clint agreed finally. “But only once we’ve actually got this thing set up.”

“Do you think Laura would be okay having Isabelle stay at the farm in the case of an emergency?” Bobbi asked.

“I'm sure she would be more than happy to,” Clint said. He looked around the room at the dark walls and artificial lighting, but almost the many sets of armchairs and couches in the room. “You definitely made a different choice than I did, Bobbi, raising Isabelle here.”

“Is it a bad one?”

“Just different. If I hadn't had Laura in my ear telling me there was no freaking way I was raising our little boy in a tiny S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment, I'm not sure what I would have chosen.”

“Did you have your kids learn self-defense?” Bobbi asked.

Clint nodded. “Cooper started when he was six, Lila at five and a half. It's a good idea even for kids who aren't the children of spies.”

“Do you teach them or do they go to a dojo-type-place?” Bobbi asked curiously. “Hunter and I...we aren't sure what we’re going to do for schooling yet, in any subject.”

“They go to a dojo, but I help them practice at home if they want it,” Clint said. “It's important that they like it too, though. It's not just a survival skill we’re forcing on them. They do need to learn it, but we try to make it as fun as possible.” He stopped, thoughtful. “Normally I would be against keeping things in house, but in this case I don't think you should ignore the incredible resources you have around you, especially given Isabelle’s current state of development emotionally. This is all still new to her, so those bonds need to be forged first. But Bobbi, you have people for everything.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You have May, who’s along with you is the best martial artist we know with standard training. You have the two lab techs, Fitz and Simmons—” Bobbi wasn't surprised he could remember names from brief introductions; Barton was a spy after all. Either that or he had done research on them before they had arrived. “—can teach her basic academics, easily. So keep it in house, for now. The self-defense in particular.”

“We’ve already begun doing some of that,” Bobbi told him. “But I just wasn't sure about the fighting...she's so young…”

“You're having her live in this base, Bobbi,” Clint said seriously. “She needs to know it.”

“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “I'll discuss it with Hunter.” Bobbi’s mouth twisted into something akin to a smile. “Do you think he’d be willing to live out on a farm somewhere with Isabelle?” Barton smacked her in the arm, shaking his head. “Kidding, kidding,” Bobbi muttered. “Do your kids know what you do?”

“Parts of it. I have to explain why I go away, and why I don't know when I'll be back.”

“And they understand that?”

“As much as they can. More so as they get older, I think. Having their mother helps,” Clint said. “You're not going to be able to hide the nature of your work from her while she's here. My best advice is to make it a part of her life, like it’s natural. She won't remember anything else, and I know for a fact you can still show your kids how much you love them while working for S.H.I.E.L.D. While putting in double time with the Avengers, even.”

“Cooper and Lila...I can only hope Isabelle grows up as amazingly well-adjusted as they are,” Bobbi said.

Clint laughed. “There will be hard times, trust me. Remember when I was kidnapped two years ago, a couple months after New York? The kids didn't take that so well. Cooper took it out on Natasha even over Christmas when she still hasn't found me. Told her he hated her and never wanted to see her again.” He was sober now. “So, another word of advice: they don't really mean it. But you definitely should take a good hard look at what’s making them react that way, and decide if it's really worth it.”

“It was after that that you walked into Fury's office and told him you couldn't work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers in double shifts,” Bobbi remembered. “You said he had to choose one or the other for the time he had you, not doing S.H.I.E.L.D. work and then tacking Avengers duties on top of it.”

“And he listened,” Clint smiled. “After much shouting on my part. But I suspect Coulson will be much more amenable initially than he was.”

Bobbi nodded. “He's been very fair about the whole thing.”

Clint grinned. “Sounds like the Phil Coulson I know.” Footsteps hurried toward them and they stopped talking, looking expectantly towards the door.

Skye, Simmons, and Fitz walked quickly into the room, faces slightly flushed and hair somewhat helter-skelter. The huddled together, eyes bright with excitement. “They're coming!” Skye said, looking toward the door. “Be cool, guys.” They immediately straightened out into a line, Fitz and Simmons trying too hard to appear interested in something else. “I said be cool,” Skye hissed again as May and Natasha walked into the room. May had a split lip and Natasha a reddening bruise on her forehead near her hairline, but other than that they seemed relatively unharmed.

“So, who won?” Bobbi asked, standing from her chair to greet them.

“It was a tie,” May said, removing some blood from the corner of her mouth.

Natasha nodded. “You'll get your official invitation to join the Avengers soon.” Bobbi couldn't tell whether she was joking or not.

May’s mouth twisted into something akin to a smile. “I'm good here, Romanoff. I've found my place.”

Isabelle came running in—Hunter in fast pursuit—holding a fistful of coloring implements and stopped in front of Clint. She held them up so that they were inches from his nose. “Want to draw with me?”

“Sure, princess,” Clint grinned, plopping down on the floor with her somewhere out of the way as the younger agents continued to silently gawk at the Black Widow, still astounded that  _ she was actually in their presence. _ Bobbi stifled a laugh, turning to Hunter.

“I'm surprised Isabelle took to Clint so easily,” she murmured, watching her daughter happily begin a drawing of a butterfly. “Coloring with him, and the bear-hug greeting she gave him before...She nearly bowled him over! I know Clint was always great with kids but he’d barely even said four words to her at that point.”

“I might’ve, you know, told her to do that,” Hunter twisted uncomfortably. “The bear-hug.” She gave him a scandalized look. “You know how I feel about Barton! I just wanted to see him get...knocked on his arse, or something…”

“And you used our daughter in your nefarious scheme,” Bobbi said, tone changing from disapproving to teasing. “Well, she certainly showed you, didn’t she?”

“Don’t remind me, Bob,” Hunter said, shaking his head. “The next cool introductions we get to do with her...”

“Okay, okay,” Bobbi laughed. “I’m sure she knows my friends are your friends too though.”

“Don't care,” he said obstinately. “When she figures out who Iron Man and Captain America are...you can pull the strings, but the introductions are mine.”

She rolled her eyes, giving him a quick kiss. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you that caught the reference to my other WIP "The Lengths We Would Go" in this chapter, hugs! If not and Natasha and Clint circa Avengers / Strike Team Delta origin stories are your thing, please do check it out and find out the full story on Clint getting kidnapped :) Also, Bobbi is in it making snarky references to Hunter. Also, Budapest...eventually. 
> 
> Until next time! (Yes, next chapter is titled 'Black Widow.' I promise.)


	28. Black Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bus kids have some fun with the Black Widow, and Bobbi and Natasha have a talk.

Having guests at the Playground was one thing. They didn't get a lot of them, this being a secret base and all, and those that they did get were often all business. Having Hawkeye and Black Widow as guests, however, was quite another—and all the agents loved it. Coulson liked reminiscing the “good old days” with Clint back when he used to be his S.H.I.E.L.D. handler and the archer was, to use Clint’s own words, a “punk-ass kid.” May liked having a new sparring partner who could actually keep pace with her. Skye, Fitz, and Simmons liked following STRIKE Team Delta around like little ducklings with excited and awestruck expressions on their faces whenever Romanoff so much as took a drink of water. Mack liked discussing building and repairing things with someone who admitted he always had to have a project or two on the side with the Avenging. Bobbi liked just having them here and reuniting with them. Isabelle absolutely adored Clint.

And Hunter...well, Bobbi couldn't honestly say he was thrilled with the idea of them being here. In fact, quite the opposite. On the third day of their visit, he was still going all guard dog.

“Hunter,” she said, motioning from the doorway to the lounge at her ex-husband.

“What, Bob?” He looked up at her and then back to where Clint and Isabelle were playing with Hoppity.

“Come on, I need your help with something,” Bobbi told him, motioning him out the door again.

“I can't; I'm watching right now.”

She stepped into the room, stopping at the edge of his armchair. A book was open in his lap, but backwards. Bobbi doubted he had even noticed. “Watching Isabelle? Clint’s got it, Hunter. Let's go; I need you.”

“Fine, fine, I'm coming,” Hunter grumbled, getting up and following her with one last glance at Hawkeye and their daughter. He stopped barely two feet out the door. “What do you need?” She merely grabbed his wrist and dragged him along until they were a suitable distance from the lounge.

“I need you to stop hovering,” Bobbi told him flatly.

“What?” He feigned surprise. “I'm not hovering!”

“You haven't let Isabelle out of your sight when Clint was in the room since they got here,” she reminded him.

“Well, forgive me for being protective of my daughter,” Hunter said sarcastically.

“ _ Over _ -protective. And  _ our _ daughter.”

He scoffed. “Not wanting to leave her alone with a known assassin is over-protective now, is it?”

She shot him a look. “It is when the assassin in question is my former partner and best friend and is totally great with kids.”

“I think you forgot a ‘former’ in there, love,” he drawled.

Bobbi glared at him, hissing, “Don't give me that shit, Hunter.”

“Well how the hell am I supposed to feel?” Hunter exploded. “Your bloody ex-boyfriend comes around unannounced and now all of a sudden he's making her snacks and she's giving him drawings and they're best mates! I'm just trying to make sure she knows who her dad is!”

“He cut her one apple—” She stopped, staring at him. “Hunter, Isabelle’s not going to forget that you're her father.” The beginnings of a smile took over her face. “That's what this is all about?”

“I know it's stupid, Bob…”

“It's not stupid,” she promised him, encircling her arms around him, lips close to his ear. “Well, it is, but it's the good kind of stupid,” she whispered.

They stayed like that for a few seconds before breaking apart. She smiled at him. “I promise you, there is nothing between Clint and me. And Isabelle loves you more than anything; having a new friend to play with isn't going to change that. Got it?”

“Seeing you around him again, Bob, acting all chummy...and then Isabelle…”

“Clint has no interest in being with me,” she laughed.

Hunter looked her up and down. “I'm looking at you right now, Bob. Any guy on Earth would be crazy not to want you.”

“Trust me, Clint Barton doesn't.” She smiled at the thought. “He's already got everything he needs.”

Hunter glanced back the way they’d come and then looked at her again. “Wait, you don't mean he’s...and he’s got his own…”

Damn. “All I'm saying is that Isabelle might have some playdates in the not-so-distant future,” Bobbi replied evasively. Hunter’s features lit up and he opened his mouth to say something but she pressed a finger to his lips. “Not a word, Lance. And don't say I never tell you anything I'm not supposed to.” He nodded and she released him, still looking like Christmas had come early.

“All right, then, I should probably make it look like we were doing something productive out here before going back in there then.” She gave him an incredulous look. “Not to spy! But I did leave my book on the chair.”

“Because you read,” Bobbi scoffed. “And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking—making it look like we snuck off to have sex—I'm thinking you've got another think coming.”

He grinned. “Nice tongue-twister, Bob. And fine, I'll just go get Thor out of my room so that they can each have one to play with. Also, it's your book. I stole it.”

“Good idea,” Bobbi nodded approvingly, falling into step with him as he began walking towards his room. “Wait, what?!”

“Although now that you bring it up, it sounds like you  _ wanted _ to have sex—” She hit him in the shoulder. “—and I wouldn't ever want to deny you what you want.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling his room door open and holding it for him. “Just get the monkey, jackass,” she said affectionately. “And then get me my book back.”

He plucked the monkey off his dresser quickly and she let the door close again behind them, heading off back towards the lounge. When they arrived, Isabelle squealed happily at the sight of her other stuffed animal and showed him to Clint. “This is Thor!” she said proudly. “Leo gave him to me. He's a monkey!”

“Did you say ‘Thor’?” Hawkeye asked, raising an eyebrow and looking to Bobbi and Hunter for confirmation. They all nodded in unison.

“Yeah!” Isabelle chirped. “He and Hoppity are best friends.”

“Hold on, I have to take a picture of this,” Barton chortled, pulling out his phone. “I have to show this to Thor. Say cheese!”

“But he is Thor,” Isabelle said confusedly.

“Where did you get the idea for that name?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don't know. I heard Daddy say it once. It’s pretty. But why are you going to show Thor himself with a picture? You could just use a mirror,” she said knowledgably.

“I'll explain when you're older,” Clint winked. “And I'll introduce you. Cheese!”

“Cheese!” Isabelle said, grinning widely and holding Thor the monkey close to her face.

“There goes one of your introductions,” Bobbi whispered to Hunter.

He grunted. “And I was just starting to think Barton wasn't so bad, too.”

* * *

A few hours later, Hunter and Isabelle were off getting her a change of clothes—if anyone could find water guns hidden in their armory, it was Clint—and Bobbi, Clint, and Natasha were sitting in the lounge. "Okay, guys, this has got to stop," the archer said. On the couch across from them, Fitz jumped, and Bobbi nearly laughed at the way the three young S.H.I.E.L.D. agents all abruptly turned to him at the same time from their own hushed conversation. He looked at Natasha, who was sitting in the next armchair over from his with her legs curled up onto the cushion. "Don't you think we should just get this over with?"

"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly. "What do you have in mind?"

"They get to ask you three questions, to break the ice," he suggested.

"Any three?" Simmons squeaked out.

Clint laughed. "Well, yes—"

"—but I would keep in mind that I can kill you with my pinky if you ask the wrong one," Natasha finished. Skye gulped. "And if they get to interrogate me, shouldn't I get to ask them questions too?"

"Enough with the threats, Nat," he smiled, shaking his head. "But yes, that makes sense." He looked at Skye, Simmons, and Fitz. "Does that sound fair?"

They all nodded eagerly.

"Wait a second, why do I get to be the only one on our side under scrutiny?" Natasha asked. "Why can't they ask you questions too?"

"No one ever wants to ask me questions," Clint shrugged. "No one cares about Hawkeye when they're in the presence of the Black Widow."

"Aw, I care about you, Clint," Bobbi teased.

"Exes don't count," he rolled his eyes. Smiling, he looked at the three agents. "Now, we'll let you start."

Skye whispered something in Simmons's ear, and the biochemist promptly turned and repeated it to Fitz. He leaned over towards Bobbi across the space between the large couch and her armchair and she obliged, curious. "Protect us," he whispered, and Bobbi laughed.

"I won't let her kill you," she promised, glancing at Natasha with a sly grin.

"Why don't you ask us a question first?" Skye suggested. "We haven't exactly had time to come up with a good question yet."

"Yes, you go first," Simmons agreed.

"Yeah," Fitz added.

Natasha smirked; she seemed to be enjoying their awestruck nervousness. "All right. I only really have one question, but I'll still answer your three. How is Coulson alive?"

The atmosphere in the room dropped perceptibly for a moment as Skye, Simmons, and Fitz glanced at each other uncertainly. Even Bobbi was caught off guard by the question, although now that it had been stated she felt that this had been the Black Widow and Hawkeye's plan all along. None of this "I suppose, what do you have in mind?"-crap; they had been aiming towards this since the beginning in true STRIKE Team Delta style.

"Don't you think that's a question you should ask Director Coulson himself?" Simmons asked timidly.

Natasha took a sip of her drink before setting it back on the side table. Three anxious pairs of eyes watched her movement to a centimeter. "What makes you think I won't?"

"Well..." Simmons looked helplessly at Skye.

"Could you give us a minute to discuss this out there?" the hacker asked, gesturing towards the hallway. The three of them got up and practically scampered out of the room.

"You scared them, Tasha," Bobbi admonished lightly. "Nicely done."

The Black Widow chose not to respond, and Bobbi could tell from the slight quirk of Natasha's lips in an otherwise hidden smile that she could hear everything said in the corridor too, even though she was all the way across the room. "Can we tell her?" Fitz was saying.

"He told us it was a secret," Simmons added. "He wouldn't even let me research the GH-325 serum at the Hub after we injected you with it!"

"Yeah, a year ago," Skye replied. "Guys, I really want to ask her some questions. Can we pass an opportunity like this up?"

Simmons let out what sounded like a huff. "Oh don't ask Fitz that; he's had a bit of a crush on her ever since the Academy."

"I do not!" came the engineer's hushed reply. Bobbi could imagine him turning a bright scarlet. "She's just very...nice-looking!"

"She's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s premier spy, if we can't trust her..." Skye said.

"That's true," Simmons agreed.

"She could easily just find out another way," Skye rationalized. "But if we're going to do this, no stupid questions, okay? We should each get one, but no asking about...I don't know, hair-care products or something."

"Yeah, yeah, we're not stupid," Fitz told her.

"All right, let's go back in," Simmons said. Bobbi glanced back at Natasha and pretended she hadn't just been listening in on that entire conversation.

The three younger agents filed in almost guiltily and retook their seats on the couch. Fitz’s cheeks were pink-tinged, and he was studiously avoiding looking at Natasha directly. When none of them spoke, Black Widow raised a questioning eyebrow at them.

"We've decided we'll tell you," Skye informed her. "He...he was injected with alien blood, and it healed him. Coulson was actually dead for days, but they replaced his memories of that time with memories of Mai Tais and massages in Tahiti."

"It's a magical place," Fitz added helpfully. Then the three of them fell silent. Bobbi noticed they hadn’t said a word about carvings on walls or the alien city they were now trying to find based off of them. Then again, that wasn’t what the question had asked...

Natasha simply nodded, seeming to have no reaction to that statement. It occurred to Bobbi that maybe she already knew, although in that case she couldn't fathom what kind of game Natasha was playing. "Your turn."

"That's it?" Skye asked, relief coloring her voice. "I mean, okay." She exchanged glances with Simmons and Fitz. "We're gonna need a minute, or do you guys have one...?"

"Back at S.H.I.E.L.D., where did you live?" Simmons asked, looking at Natasha. Clint's grin widened, but Skye looked positively flabbergasted.

She elbowed Simmons. "I thought we said no stupid questions!"

"It isn't a stupid question!" the scientist insisted. "You don't know; you were never at the Academy. Before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, for about a year she used to work out of the New York base, and there were these rumors... She was always already there in the morning and no one ever saw her leave at night, but the base had no living quarters. It was quite the mystery back in the day!" She looked expectantly at Romanoff.

"Skyrise apartment in the city," the spy replied, glancing at her partner. "And there was a door joining Clint's and mine, so we could go back and forth without arousing talk from the neighbors. And I've always been both a night owl and an early riser.”

“She's just like May!” Simmons leaned close to Skye. Then she looked back at Natasha. "Where do you live now?" Simmons asked.

" _ Stalker _ ," Skye coughed.

"Avengers Tower," Natasha answered.

"How is that, by the way?" Bobbi asked. "You know, constantly living within a couple hundred feet of Stark."

"JARVIS is very polite," Natasha said. "He plays a knocking sound whenever Stark approaches a door."

"It's been interesting," Clint grinned. "But man, when Thor comes to visit...I never knew it was possible to clean out a multi-level pantry in one night."

"Next question," Natasha prompted.

"Okay, I'll go next," Skye said. "Did you really lose to Fury's lie detector in Providence base?"

"Good question," Bobbi told the hacker with an appreciative smile. It was actually one she didn't know the answer to herself.

The Black Widow considered her response for a moment. "I took the test three times in a day and couldn't beat it, but I convinced Fury to give me another seventy-two hours on the base. It couldn't detect my lies after that."

"What did you do?" Skye asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"I brainwashed myself into nearly believing them to be truth."

Skye's mouth was open slightly. "Can you teach me?"

The Black Widow appeared amused. "To whom do you need to lie?"

"Oh, uh...no one," the hacker said. "I just think it'd be a cool skill to have, that's all."

"It's dangerous," Clint advised. "And near impossible to learn. But if you do manage to be able to manipulate your own psyche like that, you run the risk of permanently taking on your own lies."

"But you did it...to test a lie detector?" Simmons asked.

"Well, I couldn't let Fury win," Natasha replied lightly. "And some of my friends had placed bets I couldn't let them lose." She looked pointedly at Bobbi.

"I didn't!" Bobbi exclaimed. "I didn't even know about the machine!"

"Yeah, I may have lied about that," Clint told her. "I wasn't really collecting money from Sitwell for Bobbi; those were my winnings." Natasha punched him hard in the arm.

"Hey, that's my bowstring arm!" he complained.

Justice exacted, Natasha merely turned to Fitz. "Next question."

"If you could change history and have a normal childhood, would you?" Fitz asked. They all stared at him for a moment.

"Oh, Fitz," Simmons lamented under her breath. "Why did you have to go for the hard question? She's going to kill you…and we’ll never even find all the pieces...”

Bobbi shifted in her seat, eyes on Natasha. The spy had gone silent, dark thoughts brewing, but Bobbi couldn't tell if she would tell him to choose another question or simply walk out of the room. Even her partner seemed unsure of what the Black Widow's reaction would be.

"I never would have met Clint," Natasha said finally. "Or joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I wouldn't be who I am—I cannot choose to unmake myself." Her answer hung in the air for a moment, no one quite willing to speak after that.

It was Skye who eventually took the plunge. "One more question," she requested. "A compound one."

"Go ahead," Natasha sighed.

"Do you have nightmares, and if so, how do you overcome them?" Skye asked quickly, as if wanting to get the words out before the Black Widow could change her mind. Bobbi wondered if Skye herself—the always-cheerful hacker—had nightmares. And what they were about. It occurred to her that there was still very much she didn’t know about Skye. 

Natasha nodded. "You find someone who’ll take on a share of the pain," she said simply, glancing at Clint.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Isabelle—in fresh clothes—burst into the room at full tilt, arms outstretched towards Bobbi. She immediately stood and scooped her up, settling her on her hip.

"What is it, Isabelle?" she asked, smiling at the girl's rosy cheeks and excited blue eyes.

"There's a kitty! I saw it!" her daughter answered proudly, twisting in Bobbi's arms to point back the way she'd come.

"She tried to pull the poor kitty's tail, too," Hunter came in.

Clint stood to address Isabelle. "Are you terrorizing Natasha's cat?" he accused in a teasing tone. "You know, we have punishments for this sort of thing...tickle punishments!"

Isabelle squealed and nearly writhed herself out of Bobbi's arms. She barely managed to set her on the floor before Isabelle took off out the door to escape him, laughing all the while. "You can't catch me!" Hunter sighed and ran after her, making sure she didn't get too far away.

"You're really good with kids," Skye said admiringly.

Barton looked at her. "Maybe you'd know why if you'd actually asked me some questions when you had the chance."

"Oh, right," Skye ducked her head ruefully. "Sorry."

"No problem," Clint replied. "I'm used to it. And I like being right." He looked after Isabelle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a small child to chase." He took off after her.

Bobbi smiled, watching them disappear. It was times like these that she wondered why she had ever doubted that she could raise a child with all of these amazing people around to help her. Skye, with her patience and understanding and kid-like attitude, FitzSimmons with their kind and caring natures, Clint and his father-induced antics, Tasha with her... Wait, where was Natasha?

"Hey, where'd Romanoff go?" Fitz asked, following Bobbi's same line of thought.

"She must have slipped out while we were all distracted," Skye said. "Wow, she's really  _ that good _ ..."

"She probably went to check on her poor traumatized cat," Bobbi laughed. "I'll go find her."

"Okay," Simmons agreed absently.

Bobbi headed out of the room and turned down the corridor, catching a glimpse of red and black disappearing around the corner. There was a  _ meow! _ as she approached, and when she rounded the corner she was greeted with the sight of Natasha herding her black cat—Liho, Clint had called it—into its carrier. "Protecting him from the terror of a rampaging four-year-old?"

"Something like that," Natasha replied, snapping the lock closed on the cage door. She didn't meet Bobbi's eyes as she started to walk past with it.

"Hey," she said, making the dangerous move of grabbing the Black Widow's wrist before thinking better of it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing," Bobbi said. "It's...whenever you see me with Isabelle, you treat us like this. What's your problem, Natasha?"

"I can't have kids," the spy replied suddenly, staring Bobbi straight in the eye. "The Red Room...they made it so I can never have what you have."

"Tasha, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. Seeing you with a kid...it just brings everything to the surface.” Natasha shook her head. “It's my problem, not yours, and I'll get over it,” she said intently. “But do you remember when you first called me about her, five years ago?"

"Of course," Bobbi nodded. "I'd just found out I was pregnant, had just divorced Hunter. I was terrified; I didn't know what to do."

"You called me panicked," Natasha reminded her. "I calmed you down. And then you told me that you weren't going to keep the baby." Bobbi swallowed, nodding. "At first when you said that I was selfishly happy, because you were making the same choice I did when I didn't escape the Red Room before they could take that from me. Then I became angry with you, because you were throwing away something I could never have. But I kept my opinions to myself, and that was the last I heard from you about it. I was assigned the long-term undercover op as Natalie Rushman at Stark Industries. Until two days ago, I thought you had aborted her."

"I couldn't do it," Bobbi answered. "She was my child, no matter how much harder that made things for me or how much pain it put me through knowing she was Hunter's as well. That was the only night I ever seriously considered it, and I think I was just overwhelmed."

"I understand," Natasha nodded.

"I gave her up for adoption a few weeks after she was born to give her a chance at a normal life," she continued, "but that didn't exactly go as planned, and she and I were reunited almost a month ago."

Natasha nodded again. "I'm happy for you. Or at least, I'm trying to be."

"Clint and his kids don't bother you?" Bobbi asked.

She gave a slight shrug. "That's different, somehow. You and I...we're more alike. Or I've always thought so. Dedicated to our work above all else, and...there being nothing wrong with that.”

"You want kids?" Bobbi asked gently.

"I don't allow myself to want what I can't have," Natasha replied evenly. "But I would have liked the option." She set the cat carrier on the floor as Bobbi went in for a rare hug, embracing her friend tightly.

When they pulled apart, Natasha smiled. "But don't worry, I'm working on it. I still want to be Aunt Natasha, just like I am to Cooper and Lila."

"She'll love that," Bobbi smiled back. "Isabelle's of the opinion she can never have too many aunts and uncles. Although she just knows them as friends for now; we’ll be explaining to her later what exactly their cover is while she's at school.”

“Right,” Natasha nodded. “Friends with a four-year-old. I think I can handle that.”

“I know you can.”


	29. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle gets a new favorite Disney movie.

“Aw, shit.” Bobbi blinked. Clint wasn't normally one to swear off-mission—on mission he could have a mouth like a sailor, but what else were you to do when a veritable horde of machine-gun-carrying men came running at you when you were out of arrows? She supposed Laura had whipped that out of him after the kids had been born. She walked around the corner to find him standing alone, holding his phone in his hand. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Laura just reminded me that we’re supposed to be planning Lila’s surprise party," Clint sighed. "Fury assured me we'd have this all sorted out by the eighteenth, but I forgot about the planning... Would you mind finding Isabelle? I've got to call Fury, see what the situation is, and how much longer he thinks it'll be before he can give us the all clear."

"Find her?" Bobbi questioned, looking around. "She isn't with Hunter?"

"We were playing hide-and-seek," Clint grinned. At her expression, he quickly added, "Don't worry, I talked to FitzSimmons beforehand, the lab is sealed and locked, and Nat took care of the armory. She's perfectly safe."

"Okay," Bobbi said uncertainly. "How did you manage to get rid of Hunter? Or is he playing too?"

"Eventually he slunk off to go watch her on the security cameras," Clint laughed. "He's very protective." He smiled at Bobbi. "And I don't blame him. She's precious."

"That she is," Bobbi nodded. "I'll find her; don't worry about it. Focus on getting Lila's birthday back on track!" 

"Right!" Clint turned around and walked the other direction, tapping into his phone before holding it up to his ear just as he rounded the corner. Bobbi began to search for her daughter or Hunter, whichever she found first, and saw Trip coming into the hallway ahead of her. He called a greeting and then opened a supply closet at the end of the corridor.

"Hey, what are you doing in here, princess?" Trip asked. 

The sound of laughter exploded out of the closet, followed by, "Shh! I'm hiding!"

"Hiding from who?" Trip raised an eyebrow as Bobbi approached. "Is it your mom?" he whispered with a glance at her. "Because I think you're about to be found out." 

"It's not Mommy," Isabelle told him, shaking her head. She caught sight of her. "Hi, Mommy!" she waved. She grabbed hold of Bobbi and Trip's shirts and attempted to tug them inside the small closet with her. "Quick, we have to hide from Clint!"

"Whoa," Bobbi laughed. "It's okay, he told me to come find you 'cause he had to make a phone call."

“Are you sure?” the girl squinted her eyes. “Maybe he's tricking you.”

“I'm sure,” Bobbi told her. 

"Oh, okay," Isabelle said sadly, stepping out of her hiding place. 

"I heard Skye was looking for you though," Trip grinned. "Said she had a great idea for something we all can do this afternoon."

"Really?" Isabelle's face lit up. "What is it?"

"I'm not going to spoil it," Trip shook his head. "But she might have mentioned that it has something to do with Disney."

"DISNEYYYYYYY!" Isabelle burst past them took off down the hallway in a straight-up sprint. Bobbi laughed and jogged with Trip to keep up. "Skye? Skye! Skye? Where are you? I wanna do Disney!"

“Slow down, slow down,” Bobbi called. “You're going to run into somebod—”

Isabelle let out a small “Oof!” and a yelp of surprise as she slammed into Natasha, who was coming around the corner, and would have fallen backwards if not for the spy’s super-reflexes. Her lower lip trembled at the almost-fall, but Natasha’s soft smile down at her seemed to prevent any tears from falling. 

“I think Skye’s in the lounge,” Natasha hinted, stepping deftly out of the way as Isabelle took off again like she’d been loosed from a cannon. Bobbi and Trip followed at a more leisurely pace with Natasha coming along with them. 

“She's a lot more independent since you guys have been here,” Bobbi commented to her, walking just fast enough to keep Isabelle in sight. 

“Clint doesn't treat the Playground as dangerous,” Natasha observed. “He takes precautions, of course, but he encourages her to be freer.”

“Wish we knew how to do that,” Bobbi murmured. 

Natasha smirked. “You're doing it right now. Letting her run ahead of you.”

Bobbi laughed. “I guess.” 

They arrived at the lounge to find Skye messing with the Blu-Ray player. When she heard Isabelle shout her name, she quickly hid whatever she had been doing behind her back. “Hey!” she greeted her enthusiastically. 

“Trip said you wanna do Disney!” Isabelle grinned. “I want to too!”

“Nice job keeping it a surprise, Trip,” Skye teased, making eye contact with him. 

“I didn't tell her what  _ kind _ of Disney you were planning,” he pointed out, smiling. “That's all you, girl.”

Isabelle’s eyes grew wide. “There’s a  _ kind _ ?”

“I present to you,” Skye pulled a blue disc case from behind her back. “ _ Frozen _ . Have you seen it?”

“No,” Isabelle shook her head. 

“Good. It's new. And it's the best Disney movie ever.”

“That's  _ Tangled _ ,” Isabelle informed her. 

“This is better than  _ Tangled _ ,” Skye promised seriously. 

If possible, Isabelle’s eyes got even wider. “ _ Better _ than  _ Tangled _ ?” She jumped up, making grabby hands for the case. “Let’s watch it!”

Skye agreed happily. “Why don't you go tell everyone what we’re doing and invite them all to join?”

“Okay!” Isabelle took off towards the door only to run into Hunter. 

“What, so is everyone just letting her run around without supervision now? Is that a thing?” Hunter grumbled, looking at Bobbi more than he was Skye, before ruffling Isabelle's hair in greeting. 

“Daddydaddydaddywe’regonnawatch _ Frozen _ youshouldwatchwithusSkyesaysit’sawesomebye!” Isabelle shouted all in one big breath before ducking between his legs and running off down the hallway. 

“Yeah, basically,” Bobbi laughed at the incredulous look on his face as he tried to figure out what the heck Isabelle had said. She turned to Skye. “Have you seen it?”

“Yep,” she nodded, walking into the kitchen to find a few bags of microwave popcorn. They followed her. “In the theater, when it first came out and I convinced Coulson to stop for a refuel near one.” She grinned, putting the first bag in the microwave and starting it. “I dragged Simmons and Fitz along, and…” She paused. “...Ward, back when he was just a heartless robot and not a psychopath.”

Bobbi gave a swift nod, eager to get off the subject of Ward. “What made you think she hadn't seen it before?”

“Well, it only came out last Christmas, and from what you told me about her previous family’s financial troubles…” Skye switched out one puffed up bag for another, starting the microwave again. 

“Good thinking,” Bobbi nodded. “I've never even heard of it, have you?” She looked at Hunter. 

“Nope,” Hunter shook his head. 

“Where have you two been living, under a rock?” Skye nearly exploded. “This movie was HUGE last year...Elsa costumes invaded the stores…everyone was singing the songs… Come on, guys—don't you know  _ let it go, let it go, and I'll rise like the break of daw _ —” She caught sight of Bobbi’s perplexed look and stopped singing. “Really?!”

“I saw it with my niece on one of my vacation days,” Trip shrugged as Skye cooked yet another bag of popcorn. 

“Even I've heard of it,” Natasha told her with a slight smirk of amusement. 

Clint walked in, rolling his eyes and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “More than heard of it, Nat. We watched it.” He grinned. “And it was your idea.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shut up, Barton.”

“On Stark’s giant screen TV, the day the DV—”

“Or I will shut it for you,” Natasha threatened. Clint stopped, looking at them all apologetically and giving a shrug of his shoulders.

When Isabelle returned a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, she had Fitz, Simmons, Coulson, and Mack in tow, a few of whom seemed to be silently rethinking their decision to subject themselves to princesses and singing despite the cute little girl leading them. Isabelle ignored all of them and marched straight up to Skye. “I brought Leo, Jemma, Phil, and Mack. Any May said to tell you that she can't come, ‘cause she's holding down the four.”

“Holding down the fort?” Skye guessed with a smile. 

Isabelle grinned. “Yeah, that!” 

Everyone laughed and began to pull up seats, with Fitz, Simmons, Skye, and Trip all squished onto the couch with Isabelle in the center and Bobbi, Hunter, and Coulson dragging chairs from the kitchen table to sit in. Mack took one of the armchairs while Natasha and Clint the other, looking perfectly comfortable with the situation with her knees draped over his. Bags of popcorn were distributed by where they were sitting—which meant Isabelle was right in the middle of two bags for the five of them on the couch. Bobbi had a feeling she wasn't going to eat much dinner tonight, but…what the hell, Clint and Natasha would be leaving soon anyways. 

Hunter leaned in close to her, his eyes focused on where Clint was explaining something quietly and intently in Natasha’s ear. “The woman Barton has these mystery children with...it's not Romanoff, yeah?” he whispered. 

Bobbi smiled, glancing over at them. “It's not Natasha. They're just very close platonically.”

“Right,” Hunter replied, pulling his eyes away from the pair of them almost forcibly. He shook his head. “I'll take your word for it.”

The Disney castle appeared on the screen and she shushed him, only to have Skye leap up from the couch a moment later: “Oh! I forgot!” She ran up to the TV set and pulled out a box of glasses. Shoving her hand into the box, she pulled out a pair and held it out to Isabelle. “Here you go.”

The girl made a face. “I don’t like sunglasses. And you don't use sunglasses for a movie! They're for outside.”

“These aren't sunglasses,” Skye smiled. “Put them on, and trust me. They’ll make the movie 3D.”

Isabelle reluctantly took the glasses but turned to Bobbi. “What’s 3D?”

“It means you might see things in front of the screen or closer to you...it won't look flat,” Bobbi tried her best to explain. 

“But how?”

“Well, the people who film the movie enhance the illusion of depth perception,” Simmons explained cheerily. “The most common way they do it is derived from stereoscopic photography in that they use two cameras to get two slightly different perspectives on the scene, like you get because your eyes are set slightly apart from each other on your face.” 

“That's confusing,” Isabelle wrinkled her nose. 

“They sprinkle fairy dust—nah, let's make it ‘magic-awesome-powder’—on the cameras,” Skye told her with a grin and a nudge. 

Isabelle smiled widely and nearly jammed the glasses over her face. “I like that better!” Simmons made a small grumbling noise—something about improper education and if Bobbi could read lips correctly  _ Calvin and Hobbes _ . 

Skye finished passing out the 3D glasses and then plopped down again, pressing play on the menu screen. Hunter groaned softly as soon as the singing started and Bobbi jabbed him swiftly in the stomach. “ _ Born of cold and winter air, and mountain rain combining… _ ”

* * *

As soon as the movie was over, Skye paused it on the credits and turned to Isabelle. “So, what’d you think?”

“Best movie ever!” Isabelle threw her arms around Skye, wriggling her feet with joy. “I still like  _ Tangled _ , but Elsa is SO COOL.” 

“She's not cool, love, she's icy cold,” Hunter teased. Everyone looked at him, suddenly silent. Except Isabelle. She giggled.

“Hunter,” Bobbi dared break it and voice what was on all their minds. “That sounded dangerously close to a Dad-joke.”

“Totally,” Skye agreed. 

“Sorry, dude,” Trip said, looking as though someone had just died. 

“I am a dad,” he said proudly. He looked around at them all. “It wasn't that bad...was it?” They all nodded solemnly, even Isabelle, who appeared to be just copying them for the fun of it though Bobbi doubted she understood what was going on. “But…” He gestured helplessly to Isabelle. “But she laughed.”

“Yeah, ‘cause she's little,” Skye said. “You laugh at anything at that age.”

“That's how you, as the Dad, get hooked,” Bobbi added knowledgeably. 

“And how you end up embarrassing them in the future,” Simmons said. 

“And can never, ever stop,” Skye finished seriously. “It's like a disease. An addiction. A—”

“All right, all right, bloody—I get it,” Hunter grumbled. “You can all let it go now.” Everyone glared at him. His eyebrows curved downwards for a second before he broke into a smile. “Complete accident, I swear!”

“Riiight,” Skye said distrustfully. 

The conversation lapsed for a minute or so before Natasha slipped off the armchair and stood up, allowing Clint to stand and stretch as well. “I got a message from Fury during the movie,” he explained. “We’re good to go.”

“You're leaving?” Isabelle asked with a pout. 

Natasha nodded. “As soon as I track down Liho.”

“Your Quinjet’s fueled and ready to go,” Mack told them. 

“Thank you,” Clint said as Natasha slipped away to go find her cat.

“Do you have to? Can't you stay?” Isabelle wriggled off of the couch where she was sandwiched between Skye and Simmons and tugged on his shirt. 

“Yes, we do have to,” Clint told her apologetically. “We’ll see each other soon, though, princess, I'm sure.” He glanced up at Bobbi. "Your mommy would miss us too much if we didn't.”

“Sure, that's exactly who would miss who the most,” Bobbi rolled her eyes. 

“ _ I'll _ miss you!” Isabelle bear-hugged his legs. “Can you come back tomorrow?”

Clint laughed and everyone else smiled. “Not tomorrow, princess. You gotta give me time to get home first.”

Natasha returned with Liho and Isabelle immediately switched her attention over to her. “Please don't leave,” Isabelle begged. 

“It's not for forever,” Natasha told her, giving her a swift hug before standing back up again. 

“But it feels like forever!” Isabelle pressed her face to her front of Liho’s carrier. The black cat with its orange eyes gazed back at her. “What if you don't come back?”

“We will,” Clint promised. “You have to trust us on that, Isabelle.”

The girl’s lower lip trembled. “Do you have to take the kitty too?”

Natasha smiled. “He goes wherever I go.” She knelt down at Isabelle’s level, turning her chin gently so that she could look into her eyes. "I'd be lost without him. Liho is my family. Just like Thor and Hoppity are yours—you wouldn't want to leave them anywhere, would you?"

Isabelle shook her head sadly. "No, they’re my best friends."

"And Liho is mine.” Barton cleared his throat and Natasha rolled her eyes. "Along with Clint, the needier one of the two.” She put her hands on Isabelle’s shoulders. “I'll miss you, and I will come and visit you, with Liho—you can count on that."

Isabelle jumped forward, throwing her arms around the assassin.

“Bobbi,” May appeared in the doorway. 

“Yeah?” she looked up, smile fading at the solemnity she saw on May’s face. “What is it?”

“One of our contacts claims he might know where the city we’ve been searching for is,” May announced. Skye and Trip sat up a bit straighter, and Coulson rose from his seat altogether. “But he says he’s only willing to talk to you. In person.”

“Who is it?” Bobbi asked. 

“Diego.”

She sighed. “Great.” 

Releasing Natasha, Isabelle climbed up on Bobbi’s lap. “Who’s Diego, Mommy? Is he your friend? Can I meet him?” She grinned. “Your friends are awesome.” 

“Not this time,” Bobbi told her, giving her a hug. “Diego’s not so much a friend as someone I have to meet with for work.”

“Oh, okay,” Isabelle said, crestfallen. 

“Also, Koenig checked in,” May said to Coulson. “HYDRA tried to take Raina. I recommend sending an extraction—she can't be out and about anymore now that we know they want her. And maybe in an interrogation we can find out why that is.”

Coulson nodded. “Good. May, take Triplett and Skye in the Bus and bring Raina back here.”

“But—” Skye began. 

“You're our best shot at interrogation,” Coulson told her. “She connects with you more than the rest of us.” Skye nodded reluctantly. “Bobbi, Mack, and FitzSimmons, you’ll be with me. We’re going to destroy that city before HYDRA can get the Diviner anywhere near it.” He looked at Bobbi. “You're needed on this one, Agent Morse.”

“I know,” she said. Turning away from him, Bobbi exchanged a long look with Hunter. “Clint, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course,” he nodded. Bobbi motioned Hunter to come with, stopping just out of earshot of the lounge. 

“Lila’s birthday,” she began. “Is that a good enough reason for Isabelle to visit?” 

Hunter picked up her line of thinking immediately. “It’d be better somewhere other than here, in case there’s emergencies. We don't want her to accidentally get caught up in anything, or slow down the team as they try to mobilize…”

“Or see someone injured and get in the way of treatment,” Bobbi added. She looked at Hunter. “I know you could probably take care of her and have it all turn out fine, but…”

He nodded. “I know, Bob. I'd feel better if it wasn't here either. Not while everyone but the two of us will be out risking life and limb. I'm glad Coulson thought to not give me an assignment, but…”

“It’ll be full mission-mode,” Bobbi said. “The way it has to be.”

“But would that mean I would...go with her?” Hunter asked. “She wouldn't like staying with strangers.” He glanced at Clint. “You know what I mean.”

“As Isabelle’s father, you’re welcome at my home,” Clint told him sincerely. “If that's what works best for you, then yes, we can arrange it like that. Call it a pre-birthday sleepover. I’m sure both Cooper and Lila would love that. They don't often get to have other kids over while I'm there in case they or their parents recognize me.”

“Plus it'll be good for her to socialize with other kids,” Bobbi said. 

“How old are they?” Hunter questioned. 

Clint grinned. “Cooper’s ten and Lila’s turning seven.”

“Trust me, they’ll be great with Isabelle,” Bobbi said. 

“If they don't crush her with excitement,” Clint joked, then caught sight of Hunter’s expression. “Just kidding, Hunter.”

“So that's the plan then,” Bobbi nodded. “What do you want us to tell the team?”

“We’re taking her to a safehouse,” Clint said. “Isabelle shouldn't put up much of a fight; she was so distraught to see us leaving anyway.”

“Yeah, she really must love you guys,” she smiled. 

“Or she's just upset the kitty’s leaving,” Hunter muttered cynically. The three of them laughed but sobered quickly. Heading back to the lounge, Bobbi explained the new plan—leaving Lila and Cooper out of it—to Coulson, who readily agreed to meeting Bobbi in Puerto Rico and having her fly out from wherever ‘the safehouse’ was if it made Isabelle safer and barely cost them any travel time. May said her goodbyes to Clint and Natasha quickly and then went to book Coulson and the others a last minute flight to San Juan. 

“We get to go with them?” Isabelle asked excitedly when Bobbi told her. “Yay! Are you sure Trip and Skye and Jemma and Leo can't come too?”

“They've got work to do, love,” Hunter told her. 

“We’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back from your vacation, kiddo,” Trip promised. 

“Yep,” Skye grinned, tickling her. “Nothing's gonna change. You are the lucky duckling that gets to go with Clint and Natasha!”

“Go and get your backpack and Thor and Hoppity,” Hunter directed her with a smile. That backpack had become the equivalent of a go-bag for Isabelle. 

“Okay!” She ran off. Natasha lifted Liho’s cage. 

Bobbi looked at Fitz and Simmons. “See you in Puerto Rico.” Skye and Trip, “See you when that city is a pile of rubble.”

Trip smiled. “You said it, girl.”


	30. San Juan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi drops off Isabelle at the Farmhouse and heads to Puerto Rico.

"Aunt Bobbi!" Lila exclaimed, jumping off the front porch and hurtling towards her at breakneck speed. 

"Really?" Cooper called after her, poking his head out the front door just as Lila's arms circled around Bobbi's waist and the girl nearly bowled her over. He came dashing out as well on sight as Bobbi hugging Lila, then waited patiently for his sister to be released before giving her a huge hug to match. 

"Hey, you two," Bobbi laughed, smiling from ear to ear. She tickled Lila's side. "Happy early birthday, Mini-Hawk."

"Thanks," Lila grinned. "But I won’t be mini for long! What are you doing here? Is Dad with you? Does Mom know?"

"I'll go tell them!" Cooper said, ready to race off back towards the house. 

"She knows, buddy," Clint said, coming out of the Quinjet with Natasha at his side after having powered everything down. As much as Bobbi liked to fly, she had deferred to their more intimate knowledge of the Farmhouse’s location and the quickest flight paths to get there. “And Lila, don’t you dare try to grow up too fast. You have to always be mini to me, okay?”

His kids jumped on him instead and then on Natasha with shouts of, "Dad! Auntie Nat!"

“‘Til I’m taller than you,” Lila stuck out her tongue at her dad from where she was hugging Natasha. “Then  _ you’ll  _ be Mini-Hawk.”

"We also brought someone we want you to meet," Bobbi told them once they had calmed down somewhat. "She's a bit younger than you, so you might have to roughhouse a bit less than you're used to..."

"We don't roughhouse," Cooper said, crossing his arms and trying for a stubborn expression. 

"Sure you don't," Bobbi laughed, going back into the Quinjet. She made eye contact with first Hunter and then Isabelle. She took her hand gently and led her onto the ramp and out into the sunlight. Hunter followed. "Cooper, Lila, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Isabelle. And behind her is Lance Hunter, her dad. Isabelle, Cooper and Lila."

"Hi!" Lila chirped, waving enthusiastically. 

"Hey," Cooper said, gazing at her with interest. 

"Hi!" Isabelle waved shyly, holding onto Bobbi's hand.

"You have a daughter?" Lila asked. "How come we haven't met before?"

"Maybe her family is secret like ours," Cooper pointed out, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"But we share  _ our  _ secret with her, so—" his sister argued. 

"Cooper, Lila," Clint said. "You're being rude. Why don't you go show Isabelle your toys? I bet she'd like that."

"Sorry, Dad," Cooper muttered, ducking his head. He held out his hand to Isabelle. "Want to come see? I have New York City set up in Legos! Well, part of it anyway." He looked up at Hunter, who was standing very—protectively—close to her. "You can come too if you want."

"Sure, I would love to," Hunter said, taking Isabelle's other hand. Cooper walked back towards the house with the two of them. 

"Are you staying for my birthday?" Lila tilted her head at her. "It's in two days."

"I know when your birthday is, silly," Bobbi ruffled her hair. "But I have work, so I have to leave again. Isabelle will be here though."

"Really?" Lila's eyes lit up. "So can she visit often?"

"Plan on it," Bobbi nodded with a laugh. 

The girl grinned. "Cool! We can play all sorts of games together." She leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Cooper cheats when he thinks I'm not looking ‘cause he thinks since he’s older than me that he’s smarter, so sometimes I don't like playing with him."

"He most certainly is not," Bobbi waved her off with a laugh. “Go on, join them.” Lila ran back to the front door and disappeared inside the house. 

"You're not thinking of leaving before you say hi to Laura, are you?" Clint asked. 

"Yes, no dropping and running," Natasha teased lightly.

She rolled her eyes at her. "I'm not, I'm not." The three of them began walking towards the house in a comfortable silence. Bobbi’s eyes flicked to the old brown barn to the side of their property, then to the American flag fluttering in the slight breeze over a wheelbarrow filled with a mound of dirt and a few cases of flowers, and to the the sun dipping below the horizon to her right, painting the sky with brilliant hues of pink and orange. She stepped up on the single step before the front porch and felt it creak and give slightly beneath her combat boots. 

“My next project,” Clint indicated it. Natasha and Bobbi each gave him a look, altogether too familiar with his ‘projects.’

“I thought the next one was reflooring the sunroom?” Bobbi asked innocently. 

Clint shrugged. “I’ll get to that one after.” 

The front door swung open before any of them could touch it to reveal Laura Barton holding it open with her elbow and drying her hands on a dishcloth. “No more projects, Clint,” she told him with a slight smile. “Can’t you just come and be home, instead of fixing things constantly?” The warm look she was giving her husband told Bobbi that she was only teasing. 

“I could if things around here would stop breaking,” Clint replied, greeting her with a kiss. He smiled. “Honey, I’m home.” 

“Yes, I can see that,” she laughed, standing aside to let the three of them inside. After she let the door close she embraced Natasha, murmuring something quietly in her ear, and then Bobbi, albeit for a shorter duration. “And I can see you’ve brought a little one and...Hunter...with you,” she said, eying Bobbi. 

“Long story?” she said feebly. 

Laura nodded. “Must be. Last time I heard that name you were complaining about him being a—” She glanced behind her towards the stairs that led to the kids’ bedrooms, “—your ex-husband.”

“An осел,” Natasha provided helpfully. 

Laura shook her head. “Oh no you don’t. Russian’s not even working anymore—I caught Lila saying your favorite ‘дерьмо’ when she stubbed her toe the other week.”

“дерьмо,” Natasha muttered, then caught Laura’s eye. “Sorry.” 

“It is a long story,” Bobbi told Laura. “I can tell you everything another time or Clint can relate it to you later. Thank you for agreeing to have them both here for a little while.”

Laura smiled. “It's no problem at all, Bobbi. I look forward to getting to know her. And Lila will be happy to have another child here on her birthday, as normally it can only be a family affair while Clint’s here. I assume you’ll want to be leaving as soon as possible, so best of luck on your mission. Stay safe.”

Bobbi nodded and thanked her again, then ducked up the stairs and walked down the hallway to Cooper’s room, hearing laughter long before she could see its occupants. When Isabelle saw her she immediately scrambled upward and to her feet and Hunter got off the wall on which he had been leaning. Cooper and Lila fell silent, watching them. “Time to say goodbye,” Bobbi told her, kneeling, as her daughter’s arms wrapped around her neck. 

“Do you have to go?” Isabelle sniffled in her ear.

“Yes, but I'll be back soon,” Bobbi replied quietly. “And Daddy will stay here with you. But for now Phil needs my help like we talked about on the way here, okay?” She gently pulled away from Isabelle a bit so that she could look into her daughter’s tear-filled blue eyes. 

“And Skye and Trip and Leo and Jemma and Mack?” Isabelle asked with a waver in her voice. 

“All of them,” Bobbi confirmed. “But I'll be back here before you know it. I love you, Isabelle.”

“I love you too, Mommy.” The girl broke her hold and threw her arms around Bobbi again, and she hugged her tightly, surprised to feel more than a little anguish at this parting herself. She realized this would be the first time she would ever be farther than a short jog away from her daughter since they had been reunited at the adoption agency. 

Eventually Bobbi was forced to extract herself from Isabelle to say goodbye to Hunter. It wasn't long, but this parting was a familiar paradigm for them. They kissed quickly, and he told her, “Don’t die out there,” with the most intense look on his face that she had ever seen him wear. 

“I won't,” she told him. “And next mission’s yours if you want it, I promise.”

His lips curved upwards minutely. “Deal.”

Then she bid goodbye to Lila and Cooper—“Bye, Aunt Bobbi! Visit again soon!”—and walked back down the stairs. At the bottom, Clint was drying dishes as Laura washed them, talking in soft voices, and between the two of them they only had a few left. 

“I'll walk you out,” Natasha said, joining Bobbi. She gave her a small smile and nodded. 

“See you soon, Clint, Laura. Thanks again for everything.”

Their responses echoed off each other as she and Natasha exited the house, stepping out into the moist night air—most of the color was gone in the horizon, having faded into black. Stars glittered far above their heads, more than Bobbi usually had the privilege to witness because out on the Barton Farm light pollution was very minimal. “How does it feel to be leaving her?” Natasha asked quietly as they reached the edge of the Quinjet. 

Half of Bobbi’s mouth quirked upward wryly. “Not great.”

The Black Widow nodded. “You’re making the world a little bit safer for her. Someday, when it comes time to explain that to her, she’ll understand.”

“And if she doesn't?” Bobbi asked. 

“Then she has Cooper and Lila to help her,” Natasha replied. “Even if Laura isn't your biggest fan, I suspect those three will be inseparable by the time you get back.”

Bobbi glared at her. “Laura likes me.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Okay, we’re friendly.” It rose further, a smirk playing at the edges of Natasha’s mouth. “Which is a recent development.” She clenched her teeth together. “Well, she always liked you better than me anyway. Despite the fact that both of us tried to start a relationship with Clint before we knew she existed.”

“ _ I _ was a young, lost, brainwashed, ex-KGB assassin for whom Clint Barton was the only stable, good thing in her life, whereas you—”

“I pursued him overmuch until he revealed his secret,” Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I remember. It led to quite a few rocky early meetings between us.”

Natasha was silent for a moment. Then: “I know you are and will continue to be a good mom, Bobbi. Just the way you look at her… No matter what anyone says of your choice to go on this mission, know that I stand behind you. Clint stands behind you. Coulson stands behind you.”

She gazed at her gratefully. “You always know the right thing to say to make me feel better, Tasha.” Bobbi paused. “Have I ever told you that I'm glad you're using your abilities for our side now?”

“A few times that I can recall,” Natasha smiled. “Usually when I’d just taken you down on the mat.”

“Touché,” Bobbi replied, activating the rear hatch opening of the Quinjet. “See you in a couple days.”

“If you see them, kick some HYDRA ass for me,” Natasha told her. 

“Will do,” Bobbi promised in return. “But I hope not.” She stepped aboard the ramp and kept walking up until her hand was on the back of the pilot’s seat. She hit the button on the controls to close it, then sat down and strapped herself in, flipping the switches necessary to initialize the engines as she did so. The comm set fit snugly over her ears. 

She dialed Coulson’s number, setting the phone down on her lap. It went immediately to voicemail.  _ “You have reached the phone of Phillip Coleman. I’m a little busy right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.” _ Bobbi let out a little snort at the ‘Phillip Coleman’ part—sometimes she forgot that Phil Coulson and the rest of the original team technically didn’t exist anymore thanks to Skye’s scrubbing of the internet—before calling his second-in-command instead, wanting to know how the extraction of Raina was going. 

“May,” the woman answered. 

“It’s Bobbi, just checking in. I’m headed out to Puerto Rico now.”

“Copy that,” May answered. 

Bobbi took the controls in both hands to bank to the right before leveling out, still rising into the air. “I tried calling Coulson but his phone was off. I assume he’s still on the plane?”

“His flight lands at 5:30 A.M. local time at SJU with a layover in Atlanta,” she informed her. “It was the earliest I could make it last minute.”

“All right,” Bobbi said. “Are you still en route to Vancouver to extract Raina?” She had almost forgotten that the first part of her flight was much shorter than either of theirs. 

“Yes.”

“But nothing new from Koenig?”

“No.”

“Anything else I should know about?” Bobbi asked, well-versed in May’s tight-lipped stoicism. 

“Agent 33 still has my face. And Senator Christian Ward and his parents are dead,” she replied evenly. 

“That’s unfortunate on both counts,” Bobbi answered. “But at least it means Ward’s moved on somewhat from us.”

“Moved on to what is my concern,” May growled. “Good luck, Agent Morse.”

“You too, May,” Bobbi told her, ending the call. 

Around three o’clock in the morning Bobbi spotted the lights of San Juan ahead of her instead of just the vast blackness of the Gulf of Mexico and she began her descent, flying low enough to sweep the area for an open and unpopulated place to land. Circling a few times, she found a suitable field and touched down gently, only pulling the uncomfortable headset off once she was safely on the ground and flipping the necessary switches to power the engines down. She took one look at the battery gauge and did the mental calculations in her head. Unfortunately, the power levels were low enough that she didn’t want to risk leaving the cloaking panels on lest they not last through the daytime flight home, when they would really need them. Bobbi shut everything down with a yawn, then used her phone as a flashlight to find an emergency blanket among the crates of supplies Fitz and Simmons had loaded up and strapped in as well as the various weapons—stuff they didn’t want to have to explain to TSA. 

Heading back up to the pilot’s seat and sitting down, she draped it over herself before sending her coordinates to Coulson. Bobbi set herself an alarm for six, knowing she should get a few hours of shut-eye before Coulson and the others arrived and she had to meet Diego.

God, Diego. It was probably a good thing Hunter wasn’t with them, or she’d never hear the end of it. 

With that, she let the hand holding her phone fall gently into her lap and curled up her legs on the seat, letting her eyes fall closed. 

* * *

Her alarm woke her three hours later and she blinked away the residual tiredness before folding the blanket up, stretching, and stowing it away. She looked outside to see the sky turning a murky gray instead of the jet black it had been before. Flipping a few switches, she activated the cloak and began to get dressed for the day. Despite it being winter, it was supposed to be almost eighty degrees in San Juan—and she needed to be dressed like a local to meet Diego. By the time she was finished there was still nothing to do but wait for Coulson to show up, so she paced the back of the Quinjet twirling her staves and trying not to hit the loads of equipment stashed there. 

She sent off a quick text to Hunter letting him know that so far everything was going smoothly—though nothing had really started happening yet—and almost asked for a picture of Isabelle but refrained. Nothing to distract her for this mission. He didn't reply right away, not that she expected him to seeing as it was very early, even for life on a farm. 

The sound of a car pulling up outside caught her attention and she distantly—through the walls of the Quinjet—heard the sound of three car doors closing followed by a fourth some seconds later. There was a polite knock on the metal hull of the aircraft. "It's us!" Simmons called. 

"Stand back!" Bobbi replied, hitting the button to lower the ramp and revealing Coulson, Fitz, Simmons, and Mack waiting for her along with an old, dirty Jalopy. "Nice ride," she smirked at Mack as the two scientists slipped past her to begin futzing with their equipment. 

"Bobbi, you're with me," Coulson reminded her, beckoning her out of the Quinjet. "And you'll have to leave those here."

She looked down to see the staves still in her hands. "Right, coming." She zipped them back up with her Mockingbird tac suit. "See you soon," she told Mack as she exited. 

Coulson got into the driver's seat and she the passenger's, and they had just enough time to see the Quinjet ramp closing up again before he pulled away and started back the way he'd come. 

"Any new developments?" he asked her. 

"Meeting's still on," Bobbi informed him. "I've got a time and a location, which is about all I can expect from him." She glanced down at the ripped seat cushions. "Where exactly did you find this heap of junk?"

Coulson smiled, pointing underneath the steering column where two little copper wires stuck out. "Mack is as adept at hot-wiring cars as he is at fixing them."

"That's what we get for not having a base on this island," Bobbi sighed. "Didn't we used to, before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell?"

"Yep," Coulson turned off the grass onto the main road. "It was small, so Hand closed it down before Hydra could get their hands on it."

"Anything odd on the way in?" Bobbi asked, watching the speedometer rise above sixty. 

"No tails that I could spot, if that's what you're asking," the director replied. "But, you know airports."

"Yes, sir."

"I think we're good." Coulson glanced sideways at her. "As long as the owner of this car isn't an early bird."

"You're going to return it?" she asked. 

He gave her a small smile. "Of course. We're only borrowing it." They'd reached the outskirts of San Juan and he turned down a side alley, continuing on until they came to a more residential section. "Call us a cab, would you?" he requested. "For 601 Calle Las Palmas." She did so, finishing the call just as he pulled into an unknown driveway. She got out hurriedly, waiting on the sidewalk as he pulled out his wallet and left about fifty dollars in cash tucked into the sun visor above the steering wheel. "For the damages and the gas."

She nodded, surprised but not really surprised at the same time. Bobbi hadn't spent a lot of time with Director Coulson one-on-one—not for years, anyway, which at S.H.I.E.L.D. was more like a lifetime—and she couldn't help comparing him to Fury in her head as Mack and the others were inclined to. Would Nick Fury have done that? Was Coulson really different from him after all? As much as she had liked and respected the one-eyed man for his wisdom and leadership, she did believe S.H.I.E.L.D. would not survive another director like him. The era of S.H.I.E.L.D. that flourished under Nick Fury was over—the one where they could bend the rules and force other countries to listen to them instead of the other way around. Now it was about secrecy and playing by the rules and absolute diplomacy, or they would not survive. 

Bobbi wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. to survive for a long time yet. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Coulson asked as they began walking. 

"Just that you're...very relaxed," Bobbi lied. "For a mission of this importance. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"You know as much as I do, Agent Morse," he answered. "You expect me to act like a specialist. I'm not one. Just a field agent who learned from the best."

She dipped her head. "Fair enough, sir." They arrived at 601, which was only a few houses down from the house from which Coulson had stolen the car. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up, unmarked and except for the company logo on the side, Bobbi never would have guessed that it was a taxi cab. "Calle Norzagaray," she requested after they both had sat down. The cabbie started the meter and pulled away from the curb, Bobbi and Coulson lapsing into a comfortable silence. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out, finding a text from Hunter.  _ Don't die out there. _ She smiled. No matter how many times he said it, she'd never get tired of hearing it. 

"Anything I need to know about?" Coulson asked. 

"No," Bobbi said, tilting the phone toward him in clear permission to read it. Though Hunter might not have had that in mind that way, she was sure the message extended to Coulson in spirit. The director raised an eyebrow. "We tend to remind each other not to die," Bobbi informed him. 

"I thought that was implicit," Coulson said. 

She shrugged. "He likes to hear it. And honestly, I don't mind it either." From the amused look Coulson was giving her, he picked up on the understatement in her words. 

When they arrived on the street, Coulson paid for the taxi and they both got out. "You ever had the fried plantains here?" he asked as they began heading for their actual destination, Fort San Cristóbal. 

" _ Tostones _ ? Yeah. Why?" 

"I read about this place down the street where they put crab in them. I wouldn't mind trying that. You know, after we save the world." She cracked a smile at that. "Thank you for coming, Agent Morse," he continued. "I hope it wasn't too hard to leave Isabelle with Hunter, Barton, and Romanoff."

"I'd prefer not to talk about my daughter in public while we're on a mission, sir," Bobbi told him, keeping her tone carefully modulated and professional. 

Coulson glanced at her, seeming to read the blank mask she had on instead of a facial expression, and nodded. "I understand." She felt her phone vibrate yet again in her pocket. She looked down at it. Not Hunter this time, which made sense as she hadn't replied to him yet. Diego.  _ Voy a llegar tarde. Encuéntrame en el puente de la fortaleza - tú sabes cuál. _

"Diego texted me," Bobbi informed Coulson, fingers simultaneously reaching out to tap a reply. "He's gonna be late. He's always late." She gestured up ahead. "Said he'd meet us on the other side of the plaza." 

"This contact of yours, can we trust him?" 

"He's a politician, so, no, but he likes me." Another understatement, but she didn't think Coulson noticed this one. They mounted the steps of the plaza she had referred to, finding themselves surrounded by small fruit stands and what looked to be earthenware jars. 

"And he can get us those architectural plans?" Coulson checked. 

"Yes, and he'll keep the local cops off of us. Things could get sticky, depending on where we're digging." She glanced next to her to see Coulson had stopped at one of the stands. 

"Ooh, hats," the director commented. He picked up a while one with a short brim, turning it over in his hands. She watched him with something akin to astonishment. He has asked her to leave Isabelle to do this mission because of its importance, and yet here he was...playing dress-up. "Wish I was a hat guy." He placed it on his head. "Some guys can really pull that look off, you know?" He noticed the expression she was giving him. "What? Too small?"

"You know, for a guy who's about to blow up a chunk of an underground city, you don't seem fazed," she said, choosing her words carefully as they moved away from the hat stall. 

"You have concerns?" he asked. 

"Just want to make sure that we're here to destroy that weapon, not recover it."

"Why would we do that?"

"That's what Fury would do," Bobbi told him. "I'm not Fury," he replied simply. 

"No. But he did hand you the keys to the kingdom for a reason," she pointed out. 

Coulson sighed, stopping at the edge of the plaza. "Look around you." A little confused, she did. Sweeping the area for threats or tails before he said, "Vendors selling their wares, bringing home a modest income." She noticed them. "Locals buying fresh vegetables for dinner tonight. Tourists on their one vacation a year."

"Point?" Bobbi asked a bit more brusquely than she meant to. 

"They are the point. They're the reason I'm here, the reason there's a S.H.I.E.L.D. There are three million people on this island, and I won't let HYDRA turn them into collateral damage." 

"With all due respect, sir, this kind of op, Fury would have a number." And with all due respect, she would have a number too. As much as she hated it. 

"A number?"

"Of acceptable losses," she elaborated as they passed under the archway into Fort San Cristóbal. 

He looked at her as they stopped on the walkway just beyond it that ran parallel to the water. "Zero."

For a moment she was torn between being relieved and informing him that having a number was a matter of being realistic about the mission they were about to undertake. Luckily she was saved by the bell in the form of a figure in a bright orange shirt and dark jeans standing alone about an eighth of a mile away on the same rampart as they were. "There's Diego. I'll be right back."

Diego smiled at her approach, leaning forward to kiss her on both cheeks, first the right and then the left. “Long time, no see,” he teased. “I thought I told you to wear that little black number from...where was it...our trip to Santa Isabel?”

“You know as well as I do those days are long gone,” Bobbi replied indulgently. “Do you have what I need?”

He pretended to pout. “All work and no play,  _ florecita. _ ”

“Careful, or you’ll be seen by some of your constituents,” she told him lightly. “Election year’s coming up.”

“Election year is always coming up,” he replied. “Democracy for you. But it can't hurt my polling numbers to have a beautiful thing like you on my arm. Imagine the publicity shots.”

“Back to work, Diego,” she rolled her eyes. “Do you have them, or not?”

He opened the bag slung over his shoulder to reveal a sheaf of rolled up, yellowed papers. “Have I ever let you down, Barbara?”

“Maybe when you realized who I was and sicced the Santa Isabel policía on me right in the middle of our date,” Bobbi reminded him, holding out her hands for the blueprints. 

“Bygones,” Diego laughed. “Besides, it wasn’t really a date if I was your mark, now was it? And can you deny I’ve been more helpful to you this way, as equals?” He slipped the backpack down so that its strap rested in the crook of his elbow, reaching inside for the delicate papers. 

She humored him. “You’ve been a great ally to S.H.I.E.L.D., Diego. And we appreciate it.”

He grinned, slipping them out and handing them to her. “That’s all I ask. And... _ la próxima vez, recuerde realmente no hay nada como un pequeño vestido negro _ .” 

She rolled her eyes—him and that little black dress again—and took the papers gently. “ _ Hasta luego _ , Diego. I’ll text you if we need anything else.” Bobbi turned away, walking back towards Coulson. 

“Success?” he asked as she approached. 

Bobbi nodded, unfurling them in front of him. “The fort of San Cristóbal...held off the Dutch, the English, the Americans...”

“But apparently, not the aliens,” Coulson replied. He turned his gaze down to the map. “Looks like your buddy Diego drew those plans.”

“He got them from the city archives,” Bobbi told him. “They're older than San Juan itself.”

“Well, according to Skye's research, there's a vertical shaft under this fort, somewhere right at the water's edge,” the director said. 

Bobbi pointed to two concentric circles on the map and then out over the ledge. “The garrison is located underneath that sentry tower. That's the deepest part of the fort.”

“And inaccessible to the public, all the better for us,” Coulson agreed, indicating to her that she should start rolling up the map. She did, placing it gently in her pack. “Contact FitzSimmons and Mack. Tell them to meet us down there. It’s go-time.” 


	31. Fort San Cristóbal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi loses Mack, and tries to balance her duties to S.H.I.E.L.D. with her duties as a mother.

The stairs into the bottom floor of the sentry tower were cracked and uneven, but it didn’t stop her or Coulson from hurrying down them from their last check-in with May. Neither did the damp air and stench of wet rock and rotten fish that only seemed to increase as they went downwards. When they finally reached the bottom, Coulson wasted no time. “How's it coming?” he demanded. Fitz and Simmons startled, scrambling from their crouched positions while Mack just nodded in greeting, eying the pit in front of him apprehensively.

“We are ready to deploy, sir,” Fitz ducked his head, tapping away at his tablet.

“The dwarves are transmitting?” Coulson asked, bending down to examine them in their storage case. It was glowing blue—what that meant, Bobbi didn’t know, but she supposed it was a good thing.

“All three signals are strong,” Simmons said with a nervous smile, peeking over Fitz’s shoulder.

“All right, then,” the director nodded. Bobbi went to stand by Mack. “Activate them.”

Fitz’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Activating. Sneezy, Sleepy, and Doc…” The tiny little machines whirred in their case before lifting off. They hovered together in triangle formation a few feet high in the air before falling into a line and descending one by one into the shaft, mini flashlights illuminating small cones of darkness. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,” he murmured, then looked up at Coulson.

“Off to work they go.”

“We’ll be depending entirely on the data the dwarves send us,” Simmons said. Just as they all moved to look at it, Fitz’s tablet started to beep. The three feeds from the dwarves went black.

“What just happened?” Coulson asked.

“The tablet's still working,” Fitz replied with a frown, kneeling down to peer into the shaft. Bobbi looked downwards as well. Either the dwarves were too far down to see their light anymore, or they were no longer emitting any. “Looks like they just went out.”

They all looked at each other with identical concerned expressions before Bobbi took charge. She turned away from the pit and crossed over to where FitzSimmons had dropped their equipment, pulling out two light rods. Tossing one to Coulson, who caught it easily, she twisted the top of her own and shook it to mix the fluids. She released it over the top of the shaft, watching as it plummeted downwards. Coulson’s followed.

“Well, that didn’t help,” Simmons commented from where she knelt near the edge of the pit. “Still can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Guess I'll have to be going down there, then," Mack rumbled, standing up to his full height. 

"Sure, I'll, uh, help you get the gear on," Fitz mumbled, standing back up and setting the tablet aside to pull a sturdy cable and a harness from one of the bags. Bobbi set up the mechanism with which they could pull him back up without looking like they were playing a game of tug-of-war with gravity as Mack looped the rope around himself and clipped it to his harness. She threaded it through the machine, then looked at him. 

"You're sure?" she asked. 

"Eyeballing it, it looks at least one hundred feet," Fitz added. 

"That's all right," Mack said to both of them as he cocked his gun. Bobbi hadn't even known he'd been carrying one. "I'm not scared of heights." He glanced downwards. "The dark, however..." 

"Just get those dwarfs back online. Otherwise, we're blind down there," Coulson told him.

"Well, sir, it might not just be the dwarves," Fitz murmured. "Could be all electronics."

"Let's hope it's not," Coulson replied. 

"Being lowered on a rope is one thing. Walking around down there is another," Mack muttered. Bobbi nodded in agreement. 

"Here, let me do that," Fitz said to her, and she moved out of his way so he could fiddle with the pulley. Mack knelt by the edge of the shaft and she joined him. 

"Three pulls on the cable means 'help,' got it?" Coulson asked after receiving a nod from Fitz. 

"Yes, sir," Mack acknowledged. He shifted slightly, getting nearer to the edge without being in danger of falling over it. 

"Good luck," she said softly. 

He nodded his thanks. "Let me down easy, turbo." 

"Please be careful," Fitz muttered before releasing the rope to go through the machine at a steady, controlled rate. With one last glance at all of them, Mack pushed himself forward and over the pit. Her hands reached out to help stabilize him, preventing him from swinging too far in their direction with the momentum of his push. No matter how stable Simmons claimed the walls were, it would probably be better for all of them if they remained untouched. 

Holding onto the rope, her good friend descended into the pit. They all waited, silent, as his figure grew smaller and disappeared into the darkness below. 

"How long do you think it'll take to reach the floor?" Coulson asked once their teammate was no longer visible. 

"Cable's running at, uh, thirty centimeters a second, so..." Fitz mumbled.

"About two minutes fifty seconds from when he went down," Bobbi supplied. Coulson, Fitz, and Simmons all gave her surprised looks. "What? Just because I'm not in the lab anymore doesn't mean I've forgotten how to do basic math," she defended herself. 

Simmons smiled. "Kicking arse and doing the maths. Didn't anyone ever tell you you can't have it all, Bobbi?"

"Pretty sure it was one of the guys whose ass I kicked," she replied easily. 

"Shh," Coulson said, and they fell silent again. "Did you hear that?"

They listened. "No," Bobbi shook her head. Coulson motioned for them all to be still. "Wait, yes," Bobbi said, eyes flashing with recognition. 

"Mack," Fitz nodded. He leaned further over the pit. "OKAY!" 

"You all should get your ears checked," Coulson glanced at them with the slightest hint of amusement. "A man fifteen years your senior should not have heard what you—" He broke off as the cable stretching down into the blackness gave a giant jerk to the side and low-throated screams followed it as the rope continued to jerk from side to side.

Fear-induced adrenaline surged through Bobbi's chest, electrifying her fingers and toes though there was nothing she could do except launch herself at the device capable of pulling him up, of getting him back to safety, with Fitz scrambling out of her way. She activated it with fumbling fingers, watching as the cable snapped completely taut and began to spiral back into the reel at an infuriatingly slow pace. 

"Get him up now!" Coulson ordered. 

"I'm trying! It's at max power!"

"He's struggling on the line!" Fitz told them, as if they all couldn't see the cable jerking around as it sped upward. 

"Before the dwarfs went down, they scanned for signs of life. All readings were negative," Simmons cried helplessly. 

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait! I can see him! He's coming up!" Fitz announced, leaning down closer. 

"Hang on!" Coulson called to Mack. She couldn't see him from her vantage point a few feet away from the pit's edge, but she trusted her team. She had to. 

Another few seconds and Mack's body—Mack, why was she already thinking like that?—surged out of the pit, stopping abruptly as the top of the cable hit the pulley above their heads. Coulson's and Simmons's hands were on him immediately, pulling him down—"Get the harness off him!"—and to her horror it looked like he was seizing, body spasming uncontrollably as he hung there. 

She was kneeling next to him as soon as his back was lowered to the floor, touching his arms, his chest, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. "Hey, talk to me, Mack!" His body gave a particularly nasty spasm; she could see the whites of his eyes. "Mack!" His screams of pain and the rushing of her own blood in her ears drowned almost everything else out. Coulson's voice drifted around in the background, but she couldn't make out what he was saying, nor did she particularly care if it wasn't a solution. 

He flipped over under her hands as if the very floor burned him, curling into the fetal position with a growled word coming deep from within his throat. 

"Mack! What did you say?" Coulson demanded. "I can't hear you!"

Her friend pushed himself up into a kneeling position, and for a moment Bobbi believed he was coming back to himself. For a moment she believed she would get him back. 

Mack's eyes flushed red. "Ruuunnnnn!" he uttered, harsh and guttural. Bobbi's eyes widened in the second before he swung a clenched fist at Coulson, hitting the director squarely in the chest and knocking him into the opposite wall. A wall ten feet away. It was a feat a strength she knew no S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, even the hulking Mack, was capable of. 

"Mack!" she screamed. He turned to her, slow, lumbering, and then moving very, very fast. She flew to the wall, trying to talk him down the whole way. "Snap out of it, Mack!" He swung a fist like it was a sledgehammer at her and she ducked, unwilling to hit him. Pieces of wall rained down on her head as his fist obliterated it. "I don't want to hurt you!" she insisted. He picked up one of the wooden crates they had brought with them and smashed it where her head had been just a moment before. It shattered, chips of wood spraying everywhere. He swung at her again and the knowledge that yes, she would have to fight one of her best friends settled in the pit of her stomach. She launched a swift jab at his jaw, a weak spot she knew from their sparring sessions due to a biking injury when he was young. 

Mack didn't even blink. She hit him again the in the same place, harder, and she felt brittle bone break underneath her fingers, but he still didn't stop coming. Ducking under his legs on the next blow, she came up behind him and dimly realized in the back of her mind that with Coulson's status unknown, she was the only fighter here. She was the only one distracting him from Fitz and Simmons. 

Bobbi reached for the staves at her back only to remember they were in her go-bag, across the chamber and on the side she had just vacated with her last move. Shit. He swung at her again and she kicked him, once between the legs—no response—and once on his right knee, causing it to buckle beneath him. She vaulted over his back and grabbed her staves. 

"Fitz, ICER!" Coulson was up again, looking worse for wear with Simmons, evidently having revived him, standing next to him. The young engineer fumbled for the gun in one of their bags and Bobbi didn't have time to look anymore as Mack came at her again, catching her wrist in mid air. She smacked him across the abdomen with the other stave, fighting for her wrist back with a hit across his. It was released but only for a moment under her flurry of attacks until his large hands closed around both of them, crossing her arms and immobilizing them against her stomach with inhuman strength. 

An ICER cocked from behind him and was thrown to Coulson as Bobbi struggled not to be crushed. There was the sound of two rounds being explosively released, and the side of Mack's face lit up blue as the dendrotoxin laced up his body. His muscles stiffened, faltering.

Then it disappeared. 

He came at her, sweeping her up with one move. His fingers wrapped around her neck. The staves clattered to the floor as her feet left it, twitching uncontrollably against his giant body as every cell in her body screamed for her to do everything she could to be released. Her fingers scrabbled at his as the back of her head scraped against the rocky wall of the chamber. "Mack... it's me," she gasped. The giant's grip only tightened. 

Out of nowhere Coulson came up from behind him with one of her staves in his hand, pulling it backwards against his neck. She dropped to the floor, only vaguely aware of sensations below her pounding head anymore. Bobbi lay there, stunned, with only the feeling of utter despair making her drag herself to her feet again. Somehow Simmons was dangling over the edge of the pit with Coulson holding onto her leg for dear life and Fitz was holding a gun on Mack, a real gun. 

"Shoot him, Fitz!" Coulson commanded, both arms stretched as far as they could go to hold onto the young biochemist. 

"This isn't an ICER; these are real bullets," Fitz muttered. Bobbi grabbed her staves from the ground. 

"Damn it, Fitz, shoot!" Just as the scientist raised the gun—and shut his eyes—she launched herself up onto the back of the monster that had replaced her best friend, pressing the ends of the staves into his neck and letting them light up with vibrant arcs of electricity. The smell of singed flesh stung her nose but she didn't care, pressing them in harder. 

Mack's legs gave out and he tumbled forward, Bobbi barely regaining her footing as she hit the ground. His body tumbled into the pit just as Coulson whipped Simmons up and out of it, sending the two of them sprawling in a heap across the floor. 

"No!" Bobbi screamed, staring after him. Mack disappeared into the blackness. 

"Figure out how to seal that tunnel!" Coulson commanded. 

She looked up at him, an unbidden film of water covering her eyes as she did so, staring between the director and where Mack's body had gone. "What?! What about Mack?!"

"That wasn't Mack."

Bobbi stared at him helplessly. "But he's in there, somewhere. We have to help him."

“We’ll do our best,” Coulson said firmly, looking at her with a hardness rarely found in his blue-gray eyes. “But for now, he's lost. We need to regroup, and we need to check in with May. Are we understood, Agent Morse?” Bobbi understood that this was her one chance to pull herself together before she was sidelined for being too close to this. 

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, shutting her emotions down. “Sorry, sir.”

He gave her a quick nod of understanding before turning to FitzSimmons, who were just staring horror struck at the pit, though Fitz’s hand was covering Jemma’s and his other rested lightly on her shoulder—Bobbi doubted they even noticed. “Fitz. Simmons.” Coulson’s voice, softer now, woke them from their shock-induced stupor. “Pack our things and start thinking about a way to end this, once and for all. Bobbi, help them carry it all up to the surface. I'll meet you there.” He looked at each of them. “And make sure to keep a good two-foot radius from the shaft’s edge.”

“We’ll make it five feet, sir,” Simmons murmured. 

“Sounds good,” the director told her before climbing the stairs up and out of their sight. 

Once they had everything in its cases and slung over their shoulders again, the three of them headed up the steep stairs to the sunlight visible above. Simmons nearly paled at the sight of the hundreds of steps they had to climb carrying the equipment, but she dutifully started up them. Fitz followed, muttering something that sounded like equations under his breath as if he was already starting to work through the problem Coulson had set before them—how to seal the tunnel, how to trap Mack down there, how to blow up both him and the alien city. How to kill her best friend.

No. She couldn’t think like that. Mack was possessed, or gone, or dead—and they didn’t know which. Either way, Isabelle’s godfather wasn’t the same man who had stood by her side at that hospital four years before. Oh God, how was she going to tell Isabelle?

When the three of them had reached the surface, Coulson was nowhere to be found, so they headed out of Fort of San Cristóbal. He was waiting for them just outside with a grim expression. The director held up his phone. “Had to go outside to find signal.” 

“More bad news, sir?” Simmons asked, her face scrunched up with worry.

“HYDRA has Skye.”

“WHAT?” Fitz exploded. 

“May’s on her way here with the Bus,” Coulson continued in that same soft tone. A large taxi pulled up next to them, and he gestured to it. “Put your stuff in the trunk and get in the car. We’ll go back to the Quinjet to wait for her.”

“But...but how…”

“Fitz,” Coulson said. “That’s all I know.”

They rode back to the outskirts of San Juan in silence, then lugged their stuff the rest of the way. It wasn’t as bad as the stairs and Bobbi was almost grateful for the weight on her back and the case suspended between her and Coulson because it gave her mind something to focus on besides Mack. When they finally reached the Quinjet, Fitz and Simmons collapsed into chairs and Bobbi went immediately to sit in the cockpit, tuck her legs up to her chest, and stared out the window. 

After a few minutes there was a knock on the frame of the interior doors though she had made no move to close them. “You okay?” Simmons asked kindly when she looked up. 

“Yeah, I just…” Bobbi shook her head, unable to put into words what she was feeling for the biochemist. 

“You’re bleeding!” Simmons exclaimed. 

“I am?” Bobbi asked, but not before Simmons’s hand was under her chin, twisting her head to the side so she could examine it. 

“Or you were,” she corrected herself, probing the back of Bobbi’s head. “It’s dried now.”

“Must have been the cave wall,” she replied. “It was rough. My head scraped against it. But I’m fine—didn’t even notice.”

“Still, let me get the medkit,” Simmons said, exiting the cockpit. She returned with a bottle of alcohol and a few sterile bandage pads. Bobbi sat still as Simmons cleaned the wound and then patted it dry. Then she left her alone again until May arrived. 

* * *

Bobbi tried to resist fidgeting as Coulson and May finished debriefing each other. “So Whitehall has both of them,” Coulson summed up, standing on one side of the digital conference table in the Bus. “Raina and Skye. Thanks to Ward.”

“And the city has Mack,” May nodded. “It’s not a good situation, Coulson.” 

“No kidding.”

“Now might be a good time to pull out your old Howling Commando stuff again,” May said, looking at Agent Triplett.

“What are you thinking?” Coulson asked. 

“Detonators,” May replied. 

Trip grinned, nodding. “I got ya covered.”

“I’m sorry, I need to go talk to Hunter,” Bobbi interrupted, turning to Coulson. “When you figure out a plan, sir, I’m all in.” 

Coulson nodded. “You’re dismissed.” She walked out of the room without looking back, unable to stand there a minute longer. Somehow she found herself in the Bus’s garage, staring listlessly through the glass doors of the lab, at the bright red paint of Lola, and then the various bits of machinery scattered all over the floor from the Bus’s escape from HYDRA. Her hand found its way into her pocket, caressing the smooth screen of her phone with her thumb before pulling it out and dialing. Bobbi brought it to her face. 

“Bob?” Hunter greeted her, voice coming through slightly crackly. “It’s good to hear from you. How’s the mission going?”

“It’s...Hunter, it’s Mack,” she choked out. “He…”

“What happened?” her ex-husband asked in a hushed tone. “Is he okay? Is he dead?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. The city, it... _ took _ him.  _ Possessed  _ him.”

“God, Bob, I’m so sorry,” Hunter breathed. “Where is he now? Do you have him, at least?”

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. “No, he’s still down there. He’s still down there, Lance, and I don’t know what I should do—I don’t think there’s anything I  _ can  _ do. And I just keep thinking about him and what if..what if the worst happens and what we’re going to tell Isabelle and how we’re going to explain this to her and now Skye’s gone too, and—”

“Skye?” Hunter asked. “But she was with May.”

“Ward,” Bobbi said in answer. “Working with Whitehall. And I know getting the two of them back won’t even be our top priority because HYDRA has Raina and the Obelisk now, and…” She stopped, dangerously close to breaking. “Lance, I’m so scared.”

"I wish I could hug you right now, Bob," he whispered. "We can come back. Drive out to Des Moines, take a commercial flight—we can be back in six hours if you say the word."

"You know you can't," Bobbi replied miserably. "We can't...disturb..." The sound of laughter coming across the line faintly made her voice fade away. "Not until we have to."

"It’ll be okay, Bob,” Hunter assured her. “It’ll work out somehow. And if the worst happens, we’ll deal with it together. You’re not alone.” His words were calming, orienting, if altogether too optimistic. 

“We have to get him back—them both back,” Bobbi murmured. “I have to.”

“Mack's my friend too," Hunter told her quietly. "So is Skye. Bring them back if you can...but don't die out there, Bob. For both of us."

"I won't," she promised. "You don't need to worry about me doing something stupid. I've got more to live for than I ever have before—and I'm not about to drop the ball now." She paused, trying for light. "Besides, it's usually you doing the stupid stuff." 

"True," Hunter said. "Still, I may have rubbed off on you. Accidentally."

"I've been resisting picking it up from you for years," she told him, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "Tell Isabelle I love her and give her a hug for me, okay?"

"You don't want to talk to her yourself?" Hunter asked. 

"She would hear the wrongness in my voice," Bobbi said softly. "I couldn’t face that. Not right now. I couldn’t upset her before...before we have to.” He was silent on the other end. She couldn’t tell if he disagreed with her decision or not, but either way he’d accepted it. “...Bye, Hunter."

"Bye, Bob." She stopped, waiting, unwilling to take the phone away from her ear and end her one connection to him. After almost a minute of still hearing the soft rustling sound of his breath flowing in and out, she couldn't resist asking anymore no matter how much she just wanted to stand here listening to him and never go outside this garage again. "Aren't you going to hang up?"

"I was waiting for you."

Another smile tugging at her lips, but a sadder one this time. "Thanks." She waited another long few seconds before pulling the phone away and pressing her thumb firmly against the red 'End Call' button.

She looked up to see Coulson standing in the doorway to the lab. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” he told her.

“It's fine,” she replied, shoving her phone into her back pocket. “What do you need?”

“You to suit up. We have a location on HYDRA, and as soon as FitzSimmons finish arguing over a way to walk in the tunnels without experiencing the same disturbing effects as Mack, we’ll move on them.”

“So we’re planting the charges and rescuing Skye at the same time?” Bobbi asked. “We’ll be spread thin.”

Coulson nodded. “But it's the best we can do. Even if we used all our resources to blow up the alien city before anything else, it's still only a three-person job. There are only three hazmat suits. If on the other hand we go after the Obelisk to get it out of HYDRA’s hands…”

“Rescuing Skye along the way just makes sense,” Bobbi nodded. “Especially if she's with her father.”

“That's what Ward promised.”

“I hate him.”

Coulson gave her a wry smile. “Welcome to the club. As for our shaky numbers, we do have the Mockingbird.”

“And the Cavalry,” Bobbi added. 

“I told you never to call me that,” May appeared on the small platform above them. “Coulson, you’re needed.”

The director nodded. “And I’m not shabby myself. Fury made me an honorary Avenger, remember.” He started up the stairs, then disappeared into the main cabin of the plane. 

“You should call her,” May said from above.

“Call who?”

“As someone who grew up with a mother whose life was one mission and then the next, trust me—a call is everything.” May let her words hang in the air a moment, then turned and left.

After a moment's indecision Bobbi pulled out her phone. It rang only one time before Hunter picked up. “Is something wrong, Bob?” he asked concernedly before she could even open her mouth to speak. “Did something else happen?”

“No on both counts,” she replied quietly. “I changed my mind. Can you put Isabelle on please?”

There was genuine happiness in Hunter’s voice as he replied. “Yeah, Bob. Hold on a sec.”

She waited, hearing sounds of rustling and shouts in the background, and laughter—a lot of laughter. 

“Mommy?”

“Hey, Isabelle,” she greeted her as warmly as she could muster. 

“Mommy!” Isabelle replied back excitedly. “Did you know tomorrow is Lila’s birthday?”

“I did,” Bobbi smiled. “You'll have to wish her a happy birthday for me tomorrow, then.”

“Okay,” her daughter agreed readily. “Lila says Clint’s planning a surprise party for her but he won't tell me what it is.”

“Then it wouldn't be a surprise.”

Isabelle sounded cutely offended. “I can keep a secret! Surprise parties are the good kind of secrets, so they're okay, right, Mommy?”

“I suppose,” she laughed weakly. “Just keep pestering Clint. He's really a pushover at heart.”

“What's a pushover?” Isabelle wanted to know.

“Someone who can't resist the charms of cute little girls,” Bobbi teased. “But be good, okay?”

“Are you coming back for the party?” Isabelle asked. 

“Probably not,” Bobbi answered truthfully. “But I'll try to be back sometime soon after that.”

“Try hard,” Isabelle told her. “Really hard.”

“You got it.” Bobbi smiled despite the pang of sadness rippling through her. “I love you, Isabelle.”

“I love you too, Mommy.”


	32. Earthquake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi goes head to head with HYDRA, and a member of the team is lost along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 being depressing as fuck is not my fault, but I apologize anyway.

The man with short-cropped, jet black hair who was currently trying to kill her was having a very hard time of it. She cracked him across the shoulder—damn it, she’d meant to hit the brittle bone of his forearm but he’d twisted—and followed it up with a whack to the side of the head. She wiped the scarlet streak off her left stave on his uniform as he slumped against the wall, leaving a bloody trail down it. 

Bobbi left his body there as she continued on through the Ponce de León, eyes and ears alert for other HYDRA agent lurking about. She was on her own, but she knew Coulson and May were elsewhere in the building doing the same thing she was—looking for Skye and the Obelisk. Shutting down the drill currently tunneling into the alien city. And distracting HYDRA from the charges Fitz, Simmons, and Trip were planting in the aforementioned alien city. 

By killing them. 

Some days she really, really loved her job. 

Her fingers tightened around her staves as she heard others approaching, but at the last second let them clip magnetically to her back and drew her gun. The first agent received a bullet in her head almost as soon as she turned the corner, but the others were smart enough not to charge around it when the first fell dead. Bobbi waited silently, positive she could outlast the curiosity of the goons on the other side. Sure enough it took less than minute for one of them to peek out. Grabbing the collar of his uniform, she shot him just under the chin and red splattered the wall across the way. Two more bullets discharged but not from her gun, and she felt the dead man’s body slam into her with the force of bullets hitting it. She pointed her own gun at him and pulled the trigger, only to hear it click empty. Damn, she hadn't been counting rounds like she usually would. Two more bullets hit the body she was now using as a shield.

Izzy would be laughing at her right now. 

The thought of her fallen friend—murdered by HYDRA, and over the Obelisk as if she needed any more reasons to kill today—made Bobbi grit her teeth and pull a small circular disk from her belt. She chucked it at the HYDRA goon, watching it latch onto his body and disintegrate him into nothing and thinking that Hartley probably would have enjoyed trying out a splinter bomb as well. Then again, Izzy had always been more of a hands-on, knife-in-the-gut kind of fighter. 

Hartley kept it personal. 

Bobbi discarded the body, loaded her gun with a second clip, and then moved onwards. The walls of the Ponce de León looked worse for wear for HYDRA’s occupation even before she started painting them with blood, but it still contained an air of regality to it despite the foreign occupation. 

Up ahead she heard the sound of voices, so she flattened herself against the wall. “Where's Trojak?” one of them was asking. 

“Didn't you hear?” another said. “He's dead. The madman’s daughter did it.” Bobbi wondered if they were talking about Skye. 

“Is she dead?” the first asked. 

“No,” said the second, sounding thoroughly disgusted with that fact. “Why not is above my pay grade.”

“I've heard she can hold the thing,” a third man chimed in. 

“Then she's worth more than both of us,” one said drily to a few nervous laughs. 

“Tell that to Trojak.” 

Bobbi interrupted their little grumble-session by kicking open the door to the room with her boot and going in guns blazing. The door smacked one of the men in the face and knocked the weapon out of another's hands. That left her one to dispatch—which she did—before smacking the unarmed one in the temple with the butt of her gun.

Three guys in three seconds. Izzy would be proud. 

Looking around, the room she was in now seemed different from the others—more lavishly furnished in shades of maroon and purple, with a plump velveteen couch in the center and fresh flowers in a vase on the small table. Daisies, if her botany knowledge didn't fail her. She inwardly wondered if Coulson or May had found Skye yet. With HYDRA jamming their comms, she had no way of knowing whether the others had completed their objectives yet—and no way of calling for backup if she needed it. 

Leaving the strangely ornate room behind—something still felt off about it to her—it didn't take long to find another group of HYDRA agents lying in wait for her. The adrenaline of the initial breach of the facility had long since worn off, but it didn't stop her from utilizing her staves to knock their guns out of their hands. Just as she thought she was finished with the two of them, a giant sneeze rocketed down the corridor from somewhere nearby. Bobbi smirked. Well, that was one way to accidentally give up your position. 

When she found him the last HYDRA agent didn't even bother trying his weapon but came at her swinging. Bobbi moved to block but overextended as he suddenly pulled back into himself. Surprised, she moved close and smashed her arm against his head towards the wall just as he sneezed right in her face. Her forearm connected and his head smacked against the wall. He slid down it as she wiped the moisture off on her sleeve, glaring at his immobile form. "Cover your mouth next time," she growled, stepping over his body.

Bobbi checked her watch. A whole thirty minutes had passed since they’d breached the compound, and she would have no idea how things were going until she reached the drill. They’d given her the long route because it was less likely to be protected—since she was alone—and most likely to have Skye hidden along it—as far away from the drill as possible. So far she’d seen neither hide nor hair of Skye, and that troubled her. Having spent some time as their enforcer herself, she didn't trust what HYDRA would do to her, especially if those guards were right that she had killed one of their own. 

She also didn't know how she’d explain to Isabelle that her beloved playmate Skye was dead. Bobbi refused to let that happen. 

Luckily the long winding part was over and she’d almost reached the spiral stairwell that lead straight down into the basement, where Coulson’s map had it located. She took them two at a time as she hurried downwards from three floors above. 

Something felt wrong. Bobbi couldn't put her finger on it but she stopped suddenly, sure of the sense of deep foreboding that had just overtaken her. Normally that would probably mean somewhere Hunter had done something stupid—a good guess because he always seemed to be doing something stupid—but Hunter wasn't on this op. After a few moments of clenched muscles the feeling receded, leaving behind a profound wariness. All of her specialist instincts were on high alert. 

Nevertheless, she had no choice but to continue onward. 

Just as the tip of her boot grazed the last step before the second landing, the earth trembled beneath her. It shook and then jerked, left, right, left and she fell against the side wall feeling her wrist crunch against it sickeningly, followed by a wave of pain as her gun skittered across the floor. The earth continued to roll beneath her, stronger in magnitude than any earthquake she’d ever experienced—and she’d lived a good few years in California. It knocked her from side to side and dust from the ceiling began to clog her nose and eyes, but she did her best to curl into a ball on the step, trying to remain immobile when everything else around her was moving. 

At last, the ground gave one final shudder and was still. Almost not believing it was truly over—again, she’d lived in California, so she knew all about aftershocks—she waited a few seconds before daring to straighten and allow her legs currently twisted beneath her to rest in a more natural position. Huge coughs wracked her frame as her body tried to expel the dust she’d breathed in over the—how long had it been? A minute? Two?—course of the earthquake. Her wrist cried out in protest when she tried to move it, and Bobbi hoped it was just sprained instead of broken. 

She gingerly got up, picked up her gun, and then ran down the rest of the stairs into the basement. Several times her foot slipped on the dust and bits of rubble coating them, but she didn't adjust her speed. That feeling of warning, of foreboding—that hadn't been for Hunter, it had been for her and her team. 

Bobbi skidded to a halt in front of the giant hole in the floor, peering down into it despite the darkness of the basement. “Bobbi!” May shouted from somewhere to the left of her, and she turned to see May with her leg trapped under a fallen steel pipe around a foot in diameter. She immediately ran over and tried to lift it, but her wrist couldn't handle the strain. 

“Hold on,” she told May, who just gritted her teeth. 

Spotting a steel rod on the wall, Bobbi broke it off and used it as a lever to lift the pipe, pushing down on one end with all her strength after slipping the other near May’s trapped limb. May pulled her leg out from under it with a grunt and Bobbi let the pile fall with a dull  _ clang _ . 

“Where's Coulson?” she demanded, offering May her arm. 

The specialist accepted it, pulling herself to her feet. She stood favoring the other leg, but when she walked towards the hole in the floor it was with only a slight limp. “Down there,” May pointed. 

“How did that—never mind,” Bobbi said, recognizing that information as unimportant at the present moment. Focus, Morse, she berated herself. She was usually better than this. “And the earthquake?”

“Not unusual for Puerto Rico, but I have a bad…”

“A bad feeling, yeah,” she nodded. “Me too.” 

“ _ Hey! _ ” A shout, faint but audible, drifted up from the pit. They both froze. “ _ HEYYYYY! _ ” 

“Mack?” Bobbi leaned over it, astounded. Could it really be him, or were her ears playing tricks on her? Was she hearing what she wanted to hear? But no, the look she was currently exchanging with May told her the specialist was alarmed—she’d recognized it too. “MACK! Say something!”

_ “I have Coulson! Lift us up!”  _

The relief that flooded her at hearing Mack’s voice again faded somewhat as she recalled what he had been the last time she had seen him. Bobbi looked at May. “Should we?” 

“We have no choice.” May motioned at Bobbi to raise her gun before hitting a red button on the machine nearby. Bobbi pointed it at the pit, praying to whatever deity was listening that it was really Coulson and Mack who were about to come out of it, and that Mack would be his old self again and wouldn't try to kill them. 

That she wouldn't have to kill him. 

The cable made a small hissing sound as it was pulled upwards and towards the ceiling, but the platform attached to it emerged after less than a minute. Mack and Coulson collapsed off of it in a heap of body parts, leaving it swinging slightly from the sudden loss of weight. 

“Coulson!” May was by his side in an instant while Mack rolled away from him, pushing himself to his knees. 

“He's knocked out; I had to carry him,” he explained, breathing labored and harsh. Bobbi let the gun fall to her side, then holstered it to kneel down beside the director as well. The side of Coulson’s head was bloody and his eyes were closed. “I don't know if it was the earthquake, or if I did it…”

“Did you see Skye down there?” May looked up at him. Her hand was pressed lightly into the side of Coulson's neck checking for a pulse. “He's alive.” The words were more a release of tension in her than spoken for their benefit.

“Skye?” Mack asked. A shadow passed over his face. “Skye. Yeah, I think so. She said...she said she’d come back for me.”

“Before or after the earthquake?” 

“Before. But I was still...I was still that  _ thing _ then. It's all hazy, but...I don't think I wanted to attack her. Not like I did him.” He gestured towards Coulson on the floor. Standing up, Bobbi threw her arms around his neck. 

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered. She couldn't feel his heartbeat through the layers of her tac suit but she knew it was there just from touching him, strong and steady like always. 

“You shouldn't be doing that,” May said and Bobbi released him. “We don't know how the city possessed him, or if it's communicable.” 

“His eyes aren't black and he’s not trying to kill us,” Bobbi replied. “It was a risk I was willing to take.”

“No, she's right, Barbara,” Mack rumbled, stepping away from her. “I'll have Simmons take a look at me when we get back from…” He looked around. “Wherever we are.”

“Skunggghh,” Coulson groaned from the floor. 

May put her face close to his. “Phil?”

“Skye…” he murmured, eyes opening. “I...saw her. She’s still down there. We have to...save her.”

“We will,” May promised. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Don't...think so,” he replied, carefully maneuvering himself into a sitting position. May’s eyes watched him like she was expecting him to collapse any second and was ready to catch his head before it hit the concrete, which she probably was. He looked up at Mack. “You're not trying to kill me anymore, so that's a good start.”

“No, sir,” Mack said. “And I'm glad, director.”

“Me too.” Coulson looked at May. “We have to rescue her.”

“What's it like down there?” Bobbi asked. 

“Rubble. Lots of rubble. Had to move some pretty big pieces to get to here,” Mack replied. 

“I'll call Fitz and Simmons,” the specialist nodded. “Fitz might have a solution we haven't thought of to dig her out.” She pulled out her phone. “Damn, no signal.” Back in mission mode now that it appeared Coulson was in no immediate peril, May headed up the stairs without a second glance as Mack hefted the director to his feet. 

“Hurry,” Coulson whispered, looking as lost as she’d ever seen him as he stared after her. With visible difficulty, he turned his gaze to Mack. “You...brought me out?”

“Yeah.” Mack held out his hand to Coulson, who forcibly lifted himself from the floor on it. Bobbi was almost afraid he was going to topple over as soon as Mack let go, but by sheer force of will he didn't. 

“Thank you,” Coulson said. “How do you feel?”

“Better than you look, director,” Mack told him. 

“But I'm not the one that got possessed by an alien city.”

“Like my insides have been turned inside out. Or microwaved. Don't know another way to describe it,” Mack replied. 

“You should have Simmons do a full work up,” Coulson told him. “When we get back.”

“Trip went down in the tunnels as well,” May came back. The blood in Bobbi’s heart ran cold, producing a stiff feeling in her chest. “Fitz says he ran down without his hazmat suit to disable the detonators.”

“I have to go back down there,” Coulson said, turning and limping towards the pit. 

“No!” May sprang forward and caught his arm, eyebrows condensed into one angry line across her forehead. “No, Phil. You're in no state to go anywhere.”

“That's my team down there, Melinda,” Coulson replied, looking at her helplessly. 

“Fitz is suiting up.”

“You're sending  _ Fitz _ in?” Bobbi asked. “He's not equipped, or trained, or…”

“Right now he's the only one with a hazmat suit, so he is the most equipped of all of us,” May replied evenly. “And he was two credits and a thesis away from a Ph.D. in Physics, so I trust that he knows how to deal with unstable rocks. And only from down there will he be able to do the assessment of structural damage he’ll need to know how best to dig down there if we need it.”

Bobbi nodded reluctantly, still uncomfortable with lab-loving, unathletic Fitz going down there despite seeing May’s point. 

“Bobbi,” May continued, “take Mack and meet Simmons at the Bus. As soon as I give you the all-clear, go straight back to base and get him checked out.” She looked at Mack, who nodded. “I want to be able to trust your judgment again as soon as possible, Agent Mackenzie. Coulson will go with you.”

“I'm not going back to base,” Coulson told her flatly. 

Her eyes narrowed. “Then have Simmons patch you up and start liaising with local authorities. It's going to be a big clean up job.” This time the director did not seem to mind taking orders from his second-in-command. 

“What about you?” Bobbi asked. 

“There's one more suit left. I'm going to help Fitz.” Without waiting for them to reply—perhaps to avoid arguing over it any longer; May always said they talked too much—she exited the Ponce de León’s basement and headed up the stairs two at a time. 

But Bobbi didn't want to argue any more either. She just hoped the Cavalry arrived in time—for Fitz’s sake. 

* * *

Bobbi bought Coulson the short-brimmed hat he had been eying early this morning, overpaying the stall vendor in her hurry—well, just paying his ridiculously marked-up price without haggling him lower—before walking quickly back to the shade of the trees at the edge of the park where Mack and Coulson were waiting with both the hat and a plaid shirt for Mack tucked under her arm. She handed the items to the two of them, waiting uneasily for them to put them on so that they could cross the well-lit square without arousing too much suspicion. For Coulson the issue was mainly the blood on his upper forehead and temple that the hat helped over up, while Mack’s undershirt was nearly in shreds both from his time in the tunnels and from digging their way out of them. As for herself, the way they’d exited the Ponce de León via the back exit had brought them right by a bunch of dead or unconscious HYDRA agents and her stashed go-bag filled with innocuous clothing baggy enough to be thrown over her Mockingbird tac suit. Though it would never be enough to hide her true identity from someone trained to look, with regular civilians it would be fine. She wasn't running from anyone today. 

The day was getting progressively hotter in Bobbi’s opinion even in the few minutes it took to cross the square. She wasn't used to it being eighty-five degrees out in the middle of December, but then again Puerto Rico was much closer to the equator than New York or California. Finally they made it across, only having a few more blocks to go before feeling far enough away from the building full of dead men with octopus patches on the backs of their uniforms to hail a cab and take it most of the way there. 

When they arrived, Simmons already had her medical kit out and waiting for them in the Bus’s lab. “Sir!” she exclaimed, eyes wide, when Coulson entered with his hat off. “Mack!” she added brightly, spotting who was behind him. She exchanged warm glances with their resident friendly giant. “Finally, some good news coming out of today.” She patted one of the stools for Coulson to sit down on, beginning to swab away some of the dried blood on his temple and applying antiseptic. 

Bobbi motioned for Mack to come with her with a jerk of her head, leading him down to the Cage. If he was contagious somehow, this would be the safest place to store him. If she was already exposed...well, they had to assume that the limited contact they’d had wasn't enough to spread it, or she, May, Coulson, and now Simmons were now infected, and that was half their team. Not much point in quarantining anything on their own property if everyone belonged in quarantine in the first place. “I'll be back soon; just sit tight,” she told him.

He looked up at her, slightly amused. “I'm an agent, Barbara, not some fragile civilian you have to reassure. I know what's going on.”

She gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. Habit, I guess. I'm just...really glad to have you back.” Bobbi smiled. “I’d hug you again if I could.”

“Right back at you,” Mack said warmly. “Go, I'll be fine here.”

Bobbi nodded and exited the Cage, making sure the door shut fully behind her and trusting the silicon carbide-coated vibranium alloy to keep any alien particles inside from here on out. 

“Any word from May?” Bobbi asked, arriving back in the lab. She dropped her bag in a corner and stepping over a few scattered pieces of medical equipment that had apparently come loose when HYDRA had tried to shoot them out of the sky, then peeled off some of the extra layers of clothing she wore as well, letting them fall on top of her bag. Coulson already looked somewhat better under Simmons’s ministrations, with less blood coating his temples. 

“Just that she entered the tunnel,” Simmons replied, face falling. “I didn't want to let Fitz go down there again, especially alone, but she insisted…”

“I'm sure they'll both be fine,” Bobbi told her. “They’ll find Skye and Trip and we can go home, put this whole alien city thing behind us.” 

“I hope so,” Simmons smiled. “We could use some quiet in our lives after this. And Isabelle! It's only been two days and I already miss the the little munchkin.”

“Munchkin?” Bobbi laughed. Simmons’s cheeks tinged pink. “I miss her too.” She pulled out her phone, checking for texts from Hunter. All she found was a picture, but one that was worth all the texts in the world: Cooper seated in an armchair mid-yawn, Lila and Isabelle sprawled across Natasha’s lap fast asleep, Natasha herself glaring at Hunter’s snapping of the picture in her usual Black Widow fashion, and Laura sneakily putting up bunny ears behind Natasha’s head completely unbeknownst to the red-headed assassin. It was captioned,  _ Post pillow fight _ . 

She grinned, some of the stress of the op falling off of her like a snake shedding its skin, and almost showed it to Simmons before remembering that Laura and the kids were a secret. Instead she simply tapped out a short reply—something along the lines of  _ awwww _ except more sophisticated because she was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Mockingbird—and added a second text,  _ We got Mack back. _

His response came through in seconds.  _ Thank God. You okay? The team? _

_ I'm fine, _ she typed.  _ Others a little banged up but okay. Earthquake. Skye and Trip still down in the tunnels.  _

_ Okay. Keep me updated.  _

She turned her phone off silent now that she was done sneaking through a HYDRA outpost and stuck it back in her pocket. 

Coulson left as soon as Simmons would let him, leaving just her and the biochemist alone in the Bus’s lab. Simmons busied herself cleaning up the stuff on the floor and Bobbi excused herself to go make sure the plane was ready to fly. She hadn't flown something this big in ages, but she  _ did _ have a license...she just thought May might not take too kindly to any nicks or dents in her plane because Bobbi hadn't thoroughly familiarized herself with the controls before a hurried takeoff. Plus it had seen some damage lately. 

She was about halfway through running diagnostics on the status of the engines when her earpiece crackled. “Bobbi,” May’s voice came in. 

“May,” she said, pressing her hand to her ear. “Are we clear to—?”

“Lower the Bus’s ramp,” the senior agent ordered, voice stiff and forceful. Somehow that was more alarming than had the specialist been outwardly distraught. “And get Simmons. Full quarantine protocol, or as best as we can manage.” 

Bobbi’s eyes widened and she ran out of the cockpit, the door ricocheting in its track behind her. She took the spiral stairs two at a time, bursting onto the floor of the garage and startling Simmons who was still working behind the glass doors of the lab. Bobbi hit the panel to lower the ramp, then turned to Simmons. 

“Don't open the lab doors!” she called through the glass. Alarmed, Simmons dropped what she was doing and clamped her mouth shut against all the questions on the tip of her tongue, moving to stand in front of a non-S.H.I.E.L.D.-symbol-frosted part of the glass. 

Unfortunately, even if she’d asked, Bobbi didn't have answers. Just suspicions. Bad ones.

And a horrible clenching feeling in her gut that told her all was  _ not _ going to be okay. 

She spun to face the world outside the Bus, searching for anything out of the ordinary on the field of grass they had chosen as a landing site. Startled, she caught sight of a figure in red sprinting towards them pushing something large, long, and on wheels in front of them. Almost without thinking about it Bobbi ran out to meet them, realizing at the same moment as she nearly tripped over a particularly dense tuft of grass that the figure was May in a hazmat suit, and the thing she was pushing was a gurney. Idling up on the main road was an unknown white van—hot wired again?—with the driver’s seat empty. 

Skye was on that gurney, deathly pale, covered by a blue emergency blanket tucked all the way to her chin. Her eyes were closed and encircled with dark pigment, and her skin appeared clammy and cold, though Bobbi didn't dare to touch her. May waved her off when she got within five feet of the gurney, so Bobbi chose to run alongside back towards the Bus. They only slowed to lessen the jolt of hitting the edge of the ramp, and by the time they got into the garage enough was understood between them that neither needed to speak to know where they were headed. Bobbi opened the door to the Cage for her and May wheeled asked inside, then emerged and immediately pulled her helmet off. She stripped out of her hazmat suit as quickly as humanly possible when covered with baggy sheaths of red plasticky fabric, handing it off to Simmons, whose white face had just appeared around the corner.

“Is she all right?” Bobbi asked as Simmons pulled the suit on, being careful not to touch the exterior areas. They were breaking so many quarantine protocols today, but there was no time for proper sterilization.

“We found her in the temple,” May said, face ashen. “Couldn't find any visible bodily injuries on her, but she was out cold surrounded by rubble. With the amount of dust in the air…”

“I'll check her airways,” Simmons responded quickly, jamming the hazmat helmet over her head and disappearing into the Cage. 

May immediately strode back towards the lab, and Bobbi wondered what she was doing before the specialist activated the security camera of the Cage and the intercom leading in there so that they could communicate. They could see Mack retreating to the corner of the room to give Simmons room to work, expression grave. Within three minutes the young biochemist had ascertained that Skye’s lungs, though not operating at full capacity, would do for now and that her temperature was 1.1 degrees above normal. 

“Can you help?” Simmons asked Mack onscreen. Leaning closer, Bobbi could see the thin IV line trapped in the thick fingers of the hazmat glove. 

“You're the biologist, not me,” Mack replied warily, coming towards her. 

“I can't insert this needle while I'm in this suit,” Simmons said calmly. “I'll tell you right where to put it.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” Mack muttered, taking the needle from her. In his hands it looked almost as small as it had in hazmat gloves. He shifted so that he wasn't tripping over the end that trailed into tubing and stepped over it to get better access to the arm Simmons was holding out for him. 

“Here,” she placed a glove tip on a certain place just below the elbow. “Insert it swiftly but gently. When you feel a slight resistance and then very little, stop, or you'll puncture through the other side of the vein wall.”

“Reassuring.” Mack’s brow furrowed as he got in close, holding the needle between two fingers. He placed it against Skye’s arm. “Here?”

She moved him down a few millimeters. “Here.” With bated breath, Bobbi watched as he slid it in. “There you go.” Simmons beamed at him. “Thank you!”

“Never ask me to do that again,” Mack retreated again with a shake of his head. Simmons busied herself checking Skye’s pupil dilation. 

“What about Trip?” Bobbi asked suddenly, looking at May. 

“Oh, yes—have you found him yet?” Simmons said, glancing up the monitor to address May before returning her gaze to her patient. 

“We found his body,” May said in a low voice. “What was left of it. He was turned to stone.”

“No.” Summons let out a little shriek of disbelief and stared up at camera. Her little flashlight clattered to the floor. 

As for Bobbi...

Train tracks. She was standing on them, and that news, coming out of May’s mouth so unexpectedly, was a train. She’d been worried about others this entire time—losing Mack, rescuing Skye, avenging Hartley—but she’d never once considered Trip to be one of the ones in danger. Trip was the guy they all laughed with hanging out in the lounge together. Trip was the guy who played with Isabelle no matter how many times she wanted to play the exact same game. Trip was the...the guy everyone wanted to be around.

Isabelle would be devastated. They  _ all _ would be devastated. 

The knowledge was an icy grip around her throat and chest, a loud whistling in her ears even though they all were silent, trying to process the news. “Are we sure?” she asked finally, voice cracking. “How did he…”

“We don't know. Maybe Skye will, when she wakes up. We found them both in the temple.”

“No,” Simmons repeated. “No, that's the kind of thing that happens in horror stories, to bad people—how could that city had turned someone—” She paused, shaking. “— _ Trip _ , into  _ stone _ ?”

“I don't have any answers for you, Jemma,” May said softly. “Fitz is with him...his body...now.” They stood there in a shocked silence, no one knowing what to say. How was that possible? Why him when Skye was alive? Was she going to turn to stone too?

Bobbi closed her eyes momentarily, trying to shut out the horrible questions without answers. Did Trip have any family? 

“Simmons,” May said finally. “You have a patient.”

“Ye—yes, right,” the young woman gulped, blinking hard as she turned back to Skye’s immobile form. 

“Bobbi, get the Bus in the air and back to base.” She paused, gazing blankly at the monitor. “We have to continue on. It's what he would want.” May looked at Bobbi, and then at Simmons through the monitor though she couldn't see her. “We’ll mourn properly later, when this is all figured out.” She pulled a screw-top test tube from her pocket and handed it to Bobbi. It was filled with something gaseous and pearly white. “A sample of the chemical to which Skye and Trip were exposed,” May told her. “Have the techs run it—”

“On the gas chromatograph, understood,” Bobbi murmured, placing the sample down in a small test tube holder for later. The specialist gave them one last look before turning and walking off the plane, the glass doors swishing shut behind her. Bobbi exited them as well to watch her walk across the grass and climb into the stolen van, then hit the button to retract the ramp. 

“I'll be starting the engines and taking off in a few minutes, so it could get bumpy,” Bobbi warned Simmons before turning the security feed off. The Bus seemed very empty with everyone else onboard huddled up in the Cage, but once she got to the cockpit it wasn't so noticeable. She was used to flying alone.

* * *

Bobbi stood a few feet outside the containment wall, looking at her. Skye was asleep, or unconscious—Simmons’s explanation had been long and complicated and not at all explained by her Biology degree, but either way Skye’s eyes were closed. She stepped closer to the thick, quarantine-level glass—because that's what this was—and wished she had something to say to the young agent. She’d been on the other side of that glass once. Multiple times, actually. But never having experienced something as Skye must have...never after having experienced something that would make the prospect of being alone very, very desolate on the other end. 

Skye was a rockstar for what she went through, and she deserved to feel like one. Bobbi just didn't know how to do that.

For now, though, she looked peaceful. Or as peaceful as one can look in a starchy hospital gown with wires and tubes attached. She was still pale, but some color had returned to her cheeks in the scant few hours since they’d touched down, as if she sensed being home. 

“Skye.” Though she didn't expect the young woman to wake up at her name, she placed her palm just a few millimeters from the surface of the glass. “You're amazing. And we’re really glad you're safe.” She paused. “I'll be back as soon as I can, and I'll need your help. You were always good with her—the best, really—and she’s going to need all of us right now.” Bobbi swallowed. “Thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter. And to me.” Bobbi lingered a few moments longer but Skye made no signs of stirring, so she eventually turned and left. 

Skye was situated and comfortable, that she was sure of. It was what she had meant to check on going in, and she wasn't sure where that sudden admission had come from. Maybe it stemmed from the fact she’d promised herself she’d go fetch Isabelle and bring her home as soon as Mack and Skye were settled, and that time was fast approaching. Maybe she wasn't as uncertain about that reason as she liked to pretend. 

Bobbi entered medical with a knock on the door frame. Mack was alone inside, sitting on a tall chair, but she could hear Simmons approaching rapidly from the next room over, so she took up a spot standing at his shoulder. He’d cleared quarantine, thankfully—she had a feeling that without Hunter around she’d need a lot more hugs from him before the day was out. 

Simmons entered in a white lab coat and holding a tongue depressor and mini flashlight aloft. Mack obediently opened his mouth for her and Bobbi shot him a questioning look which was answered by Simmons just a few seconds later. 

"Hmm," the biochemist said, gazing into his mouth with holding the tongue depressor at a steep angle. "Your throat feels scratchy, you say?"

"Little bit, I guess," Mack admitted. "More...goopy." 

"Hmm," Simmons said, adjusting the depressor. Finally she removed it from his mouth. "Were you ever a smoker?"

Though smoking was a serious issue, for some reason the thought of it—or maybe just Mack doing it—made her lips quirk upward slightly despite everything. Maybe she was just desperate for some lightness in her life right now. "As if he would. Too worried he'd lose his good looks."

"More like lose my deep, sexy voice," Mack joked softly along with her. Even in mourning he still appreciated her humor. 

Simmons smiled weakly at them both, which looked to be as much as she was capable of at the current moment. "I'm glad to know I don't have you to give you two the 'smoking kills' lecture then." She clicked her pen light off, dropping it in her pocket. "Well, there seems to be some buildup in your throat that I can't identify. I'd like to take a few scrapings just to be sure, but I think it's a natural part of your body's secretions—” Mack swallowed, as if trying to rid himself of the sensation. “—most likely caused as a reaction to the air and dust down in those tunnels," Simmons continued. 

"So am I still free to go?" Mack asked. 

She paused, eyebrows furrowing. "Yes," she eventually decided, crossing over to one of the drawers adjacent to them, "provided you wear this. Until we know it's nothing...well, alien." She held up a surgical mask. "It'll keep you from coughing on anyone, just in case." Forcing him to open his mouth again, she took a few scrapings and dropped them into sealed test tubes before exiting the med bay. 

"You know you're doing this whole get-out-of-quarantine thing wrong," Bobbi told him once she had left. "You're not supposed to say things that have the potential to get you put  _ back  _ in it."

"Better safe than sorry, Barbara," he grumbled. He met her eyes. "Especially since we're dealing with aliens."

"True," she sighed.

“Speaking of which,” he said in low tones. “You’re bringing Isabelle back here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Her throat clenched at the thought of all she had to tell her. “As soon as you and Skye are settled.”

“Well, I’m settled.” Mack looked at her expectantly. “Don’t avoid it, Bobbi. I know that look.” 

She feigned offense. “What look? I don’t have a look.”

“You have a lot to tell her.”

The tiled floor of the med bay became very interesting to her. “I know.” 

“She’s gonna be scared.”

“I know.”

“And confused.”

She shot a glance up at him, meeting his eyes. “And you wonder why I’m reluctant to go?”

Mack put his hand on her shoulder, slowly pulling her into a comforting embrace. “You're a mom now, Barbara. You don't get to choose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is fun and happy I promise! Titled "Cats, Cake, Death, and Other Fun Things." (Which I get doesn't sound super happy but like...Barton Farmhouse shenanigans, okay?)


	33. Cats, Cake, Death, and Other Fun Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi returns to the Barton Farm and to Hunter and Isabelle. However, just because she is the bearer of bad news does not mean she does not participate in some shenanigans.

Her finger pressed the call button before she could stop herself, and she held the phone up tightly to her ear. The wind breezed past her in puffs, swishing her hair about as she waited for him to pick up. When he did, she didn't even give him a chance to speak. “Back door. Now. No questions asked.”

To his credit, it took him only four and a half seconds to appear at the screen door, looking both delighted to see her and worried about her cloak-and-dagger tactics. “Bob!” He wrenched it open and bounded down the steps, pulling her into a hug. Bobbi held onto him tightly, her stiff muscles relaxing gradually in his embrace. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked when he finally released her. 

She’d already told him no over the phone but she understood his need to hear it again. “No, I'm fine. But Lance...there's some stuff I need to tell you before I can see her.” She gave a slight jerk of her head towards the inside. 

“All right, okay,” Hunter murmured in an unsteady voice and giving her an uncomfortable glance. 

Bobbi mounted the steps and closed the screen door behind him as quietly as she could. Leading him up the stairs, she noticed the room customarily Natasha’s had its door open, so she headed for it. Natasha herself appeared in the doorway at the last second, holding Liho in her arms. Her green eyes stared into Bobbi’s for a moment, and then she handed her the cat and sidestepped out of their way. 

“Wow, she keeps this place immaculate,” Hunter breathed as he stepped inside after her. His eyes swept over the tightly-made bed, the carefully closed drawers of the dresser, and the lack of personal items, well, anywhere. Bobbi could see Laura’s touch in the painting on one of the walls, but other than that the room was pretty sparse unlike the rest of the cozy Barton house. 

She sat down on the edge of the perfect bed, Liho settling down on her lap with his tail hanging off, curling from side to side every once in a while as she absent-mindedly stroked the silky black fur on the top of his head. Hunter cautiously sat down next to her. “What's with the cat?”

Bobbi gave a slight shrug. “I guess she thought I needed him. Do I really look that bad?”

“You do look kinda grave, Bob,” Hunter admitted. He stared at her, fear slowly filling his eyes the longer he looked. “Oh God, I know that face. Who died? Not Mack?” 

Bobbi shook her head.

"Coulson? Skye? Fitz? Trip?... Trip?"

She nodded in confirmation. 

"How? Why? Who?” Hunter demanded. “I'm going to kill whoever it was.”

“You can't kill an alien city,” Bobbi replied dully. “Coulson’s already ordered it blown up. But Trip…”

“Doesn't make a damn difference for him,” Hunter sighed, sweeping a hand over his forehead and close-cut brown hair. He eyed her. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

"Yeah, just...Isabelle."

"She's fine, she's with... Oh.” Hunter stopped, shaking his head profusely. “I'm not telling her!"

"Thanks, Hunter, very helpful!" she rolled her eyes. She shot him a glare before dropping her gaze again, running her fingers over the softness of Liho’s back. Soft rumbling purrs vibrated her legs and she felt several sharp pokes into her thighs—of course Natasha wouldn't have her cat declawed. “We’ll tell her together,” she said finally. “But…”

“Not now,” Hunter said, sliding a bit closer to her. “She's been so happy here, Bob. Can't it wait until we’ve left?”

“Lila’s party is today,” Bobbi remembered. 

“Yeah, and it's only half over.”

“We’ll tell her later, then,” she agreed. She cast a sad glance at the door, seeing Isabelle playing out there somewhere in her mind’s eye. “Let her keep her innocence as long as possible.”

“Yeah.” Hunter leaned in and then kissed her slowly, softly. After a few moments, he pulled away, their foreheads still resting together. “You ready to face her, put on a smile?”

“No,” Bobbi breathed back honestly, capturing his lips with hers again. This time it was she who broke them apart, clasping his hand with hers instead. “I think we need to have a serious talk about Isabelle's future."

"All right," Hunter nodded carefully, as if feeling out where this was going, trying to interpret the sudden shift in direction. He gazed at her with a bit of apprehension, but thankfully she saw no fear in his eyes now. He trusted her to include him in this talk—it wasn't  _ the _ talk, it was  _ a _ talk, a talk between two rational adults. Two parents. Equal. "But right now...is it really the best time?"

She shook her head, staring at the floor and then up at the ceiling as if looking to them for answers. "I know it's not, but...so much is going on—going wrong—and I just...I need to feel like we have a plan, like we're in control."

"Okay," Hunter said, scooting closer to her. Liho hissed as his tail was caught accidentally between them, and Hunter reluctantly moved back a bit at the cat’s titian death stare. Grumpy but satisfied, Liho curled his tail over his nose as if to protect it from further aggravation. Hunter looked back at her. "Okay. I get you, Bob. I remember. It's the same reason you like to bury your feelings in an op when bad things happen. It's all right. As long as you don't shut me out this time."

"I won't." She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. "All those questions the social worker asked that we just tried to circumvent—we actually have to answer those, Lance. Where are we sending Isabelle to school? How do we explain why she can't mention all of this to her teachers and friends? Who's going to pick her up at the end of the day?" She swallowed. "And what about later? High school, college—I have no idea how to raise a daughter through all that!"

"Hey, I have even less experience since I'm not a girl," Hunter shrugged. He put his arm around her. "We'll figure it out along the way. Besides, university can't be that much different from how it was...thirteen years ago? Fourteen for you." He stopped. "Damn, we’re old, Bob."

She smacked him in the arm. "It's very different. So much more competitive and harder to get into now. And the costs!" Her eyes widened. "We're going to have to start saving  _ now _ ." 

"It can't cost that much," Hunter shook his head, pulling out his phone. "Look here...total of thirty-five grand a year on average for public and sixty thousand for private?!" He looked at her, alarmed. "At sixty thousand a year, Isabelle's education costs more than my soul!"

"Well, at least everything through high school is free," Bobbi said weakly. 

"Yeah, and thank God the only things we seem to buy with our salaries are beer for me and Cactus Cooler for you," Hunter muttered, still staring in shock at his phone. "Think Coulson would be up for giving us a pay raise?”

“I think we’ll be lucky if we get paid much at all with the state of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finances,” Bobbi told him wryly. “It's not like it was before, when S.H.I.E.L.D. was a big, internationally-funded intelligence agency.”

Hunter sighed. “And you're sure we can't forge a degree or two on Fitz's fancy lab equipment?" The fond look in his eyes told her he was trying to get a laugh out of her, and he succeeded. 

"And that's just school," Bobbi said finally. "What about teaching her about us, about who we are? Do we teach her to fight? Do we let May be her instructor because she's the only one who’s ever taught martial arts before? Are we ever taking her to England?" That question stuck out as more important than the rest so she ran with it, mind going a mile a minute. "I know how important it is to you, and I don't want her to grow up not knowing that—never being a part of that."

"Of course we'll take her to visit England someday," Hunter assured her offhandedly. "But when she's old enough to appreciate and remember it."

"And your mum?" Bobbi asked. 

Hunter’s lips twisted into a smile. “My mum would love to know she has a granddaughter.”

“But—”

“She won't care, Bob. She’ll understand. Better than I did at first,” he promised. “But that's a while off, at least, while we’re dealing with all of this.”

Nodding reluctantly, she opened her mouth to utter yet another concern only to stop as she noticed something white and smeared down the front of Hunter’s shirt that she hadn't noticed before. “What happened here?” she asked, running her finger alongside it curiously. 

“Cake batter,” Hunter admitted. “And maybe some frosting mixed in. Laura baked a cake—a nice-looking one too—but Lila and Isabelle decided they wanted to try to make their own.”

She smiled. “I take it that didn't go so well.”

“Definitely not.” He eyed her. “You've got some on you too, from hugging me.”

She looked down at herself to find that he was right. “Oh, and now it has cat hair stuck to it,” Bobbi grimaced. 

He grinned. “Welcome to living with a four-year-old.” His smile slowly faded. “But seriously, Bob...sometimes I wonder whether we’re really the best thing for her, whether our lifestyle—”

“Don’t,” Bobbi said, putting her hand forcibly over his mouth to keep him from saying any more. “I—I can’t deal with that question right now.”

He gently removed her hand, eyes soft. “Yeah, it’s a question I don’t really like asking either.”

There was a bang at the door and they both jumped—was that supposed to be a knock?—before a streak of small limbs and bright blonde hair came barging in, stopping and squealing happily at the sight of them. "Mommy, you're here!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Why didn't you tell me?"

"We were just planning how to surprise you, bear," Bobbi replied quickly, standing up from the bed as if she'd been caught guilty and barely catching Isabelle who barreled into her arms. Liho, momentarily forgotten, hissed as he toppled tumultuously off her lap and slunk out the door. 

Her daughter's mouth formed a small 'o' and she pulled away slightly. "Sorry about ruining the surprise, Mommy,” she mumbled.

"It's okay," Bobbi told her, hugging her again. "I'm just really happy to see you, Isabelle. I missed you so much!"

Her daughter squeezed her tightly. "I missed you too, Mommy."

“So what have you been up to while I was gone?” Bobbi asked as soon as Isabelle had released her. 

“Lots of things!” Isabelle replied with a huge smile. “Lila and Cooper’s house is  _ so _ fun!” 

“I heard you made a cake,” Bobbi prompted. 

“Yeah, baking is messy,” the girl wrinkled her nose. “But afterward Clint sent us outside because we were dirty and we got to ride the horses.” Isabelle tugged on the bottom of her shirt. “Can we get a horse?”

“I don't think where we live could fit a horse,” Bobbi told her honestly. She glanced at Hunter, who was shaking his head emphatically. 

“A little pony?” she tried again.

“We couldn't fit anything larger than a dog, love,” Hunter told her. 

Isabelle turned to Bobbi and began to jump up and down. “Did you hear that, Mommy? Daddy said we can get a dog! Can we can we  _ pleeeaaassseee— _ ”

“That's not what I—” Hunter exclaimed, flabbergasted. 

“Maybe when you're older,” Bobbi said with a laugh. With Isabelle, it wasn’t even forced.

The girl looked at her seriously. “My birthday’s soon. I’m turning five!”

“Much older,” Bobbi corrected. Isabelle pouted. 

“Do you know when your birthday is?” Hunter asked. At first Bobbi thought he was just attempting to distract her, but then she realized—Hunter may not actually know when it was. Even though it was her fault, the thought hurt. A lot. 

“December 21st,” she said, looking at him proudly. 

“Do you know what year?” Hunter queried. 

Her eyebrows knitted together cutely. “This year?”

Both Bobbi and Hunter laughed. “No, I mean the year you were born, love.”

Isabelle shrugged. “I don't know.”

“2009,” Bobbi told her, ruffling her hair. Her eyes met Hunter’s. “So what else have you been up to while you're here?”

There was a knock at the door, and they all turned to see Clint—dressed down in the way he only did at his own house—standing just outside. “Cake time,” he told them with a grin. He didn’t seem surprised to see Bobbi here, so perhaps Natasha had told him. Isabelle’s eyes lit up and she raced past him and down the stairs, Hunter following her with a nod at Clint. 

“How are you?” Clint asked, catching Bobbi in a strong-armed hug as she approached the door. 

“I’ll be okay,” she told him. 

“Good.” He released her. “Still planning to leave tonight? You know you’re always welcome to stay.”

“After the party’s over,” Bobbi nodded. “Things are...crazy back at the base right now. They could use an extra hand right now.”

Clint nodded. “Okay. Let’s go have some cake.”

Bobbi gave a half-smile as they headed down the stairs together. “This is the one Laura baked, not the kids, right?”

“Right,” Clint grinned. “Food poisoning was a bit of a risk with the other.”

The kitchen was decorated with streamers and other birthday-related decorations and Laura stood at the head of the table with the chocolate-frosted cake and the three kids clustered around her eagerly. Clint’s wife batted Cooper’s hand away from it as he reached to scoop up a stray fleck of frosting. “Wait for me to cut it,” she admonished with a slight smile. Laura deftly inserted the last of the seven candles, and Natasha picked up the lighter. It ignited with a  _ click _ and soon there was a small flame dancing from the slight breeze—the windows were open—atop each of the candles. Lila and Cooper greeted Bobbi enthusiastically—“I’m so glad you’re here for my birthday party, Aunt Bobbi!”—but then immediately returned their attention to the chocolatey deliciousness sitting in front of them. 

“Okay, time for the picture and then singing,” Clint said, picking up his camera. 

“I’ll take it,” Hunter offered, stepping forward. 

“Don’t be ridiculous; get over there,” Clint jerked his head towards Laura and the kids. “There’s a tripod around here somewhere…”

“It’s by the coat rack,” Laura told him. 

“It’s by the coat rack,” Clint said to Hunter as if he had come up with it himself. Bobbi rolled her eyes, then went to stand with Natasha, Laura, and the kids as Clint set it up. Hunter came to stand next to her. Setting the timer for the picture, Clint adjusted the angle one last time and then hurried to stand at Laura’s shoulder. 

“Say cheese!” he said as the blinking orange light became solid. 

“CHEESE!!!!!”  _ Snap. _ Clint went back to check the picture as the kids fidgeted restlessly. 

“Another,” Clint announced, and Cooper and Lila sighed audibly. 

“Come on, Dad…” Cooper complained. 

“We stop him when the candles start melting onto the cake,” Laura told Bobbi with an amused expression. 

“I remember from last year,” Bobbi laughed. 

“Okay, back into position!” Clint called though no one had moved. He set it going again and came back to stand with them. 

This time the “Cheese!” was much less enthusiastic. 

“Dad, the candles are melting,” Lila informed him. 

“All right, all right,” Clint said. “It was a good one anyway.” He began putting the tripod away as the kids once again clustered around the cake, joining them in a few seconds with his phone held aloft, tilted into video mode. “You ready, Lila?” he asked.

“Yes!” the girl grinned. 

“Okay, singing starts in 3...2...1…”

“ _ Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lila, happy birthday to you!”  _ they all sang, Isabelle more off-key than most. 

“And many more!” Clint proclaimed at the end, still recording. “All right now you can blow out the—”

Lila took in a deep breath and puffed all the candles out at once, Cooper and Isabelle looking on eagerly. After Natasha pulled them out and set them aside, Laura took up the knife and began slicing the cake, giving a piece first to the birthday girl, then to Isabelle, and then to Cooper. The kids quickly ran off to a small table set aside for the with their cake. Soon all the adults had plates of cake in their hands too, almost not before the kids appeared again wanting seconds. 

Once they had all finished and Cooper had bused the plates, stacking them by the sink—after a pointed look from his mother—Clint stood up. “Following tradition, it is now time for the post-cake water fight,” he announced. 

“Water fight?” Hunter asked. 

“You’ll see,” Bobbi murmured in his ear. 

“But it’s November,” he whispered back. 

She smiled. “As long as there’s no snow on the ground…”

“Team captains: Lila and Cooper,” Clint continued. “Lila, since it’s your birthday, which color do you want to be?”

“Blue!” Lila said quickly, sticking her tongue out at Cooper. “Like the Jedi. You’re red, like the Sith.”

“Good to know you’re raising your kids right,” Bobbi said to Clint with a smirk. 

“You also get to choose first for your team,” Clint prompted. 

“You, Daddy,” Lila smiled. 

“Cooper?” he asked. 

“Hunter,” the boy replied immediately. Bobbi turned to her ex-husband, impressed, to see him with a surprised look on his face from being chosen so quickly. 

“Isabelle,” Lila said next.

“Mom,” Cooper chose.

Lila was silent for a second. “Lila?” Clint prompted. 

The girl bit her lip, looking between Bobbi and Natasha. “...Aunt Bobbi.”

“Traitor,” Natasha told her, teasing, “You'll regret that.”

Cooper grinned. “Auntie Nat.”

Teams chosen, Clint quickly rattled them off—“So it’ll be Lila, me, Isabelle, and Bobbi vs. Cooper, Hunter, Laura, and Nat”—before sending them out. “Lila, Cooper, you know where your teams’ respective weapons caches are. One of you out the front, one out the back. And as always…” Clint grinned. “May the least-soaked team win.”

“Come on, team!” Lila called excitedly, motioning towards the front door. Cooper’s disappeared out the back. The Blue Team trooped outside with Lila leading them, holding onto Isabelle’s hand. 

“Here we are,” Lila announced, pushing back the branches of a bush about a hundred feet from the front porch to reveal a blue outdoor toy chest. She lifted the lid to reveal an entire arsenal of water weapons—everything from blue pistols to blue large-barreled guns, to—

“Is that a grenade launcher?” Bobbi asked as Clint pulled out the item in question. 

“It’s a  _ water balloon launcher _ ,” he grinned. 

“Do they even make those?”

“Dunno. Had a engineering buddy at S.H.I.E.L.D. who had access to a 3D printer do some work for me,” Clint winked. 

“Cooper won last time, so it’s our turn,” Lila told them, mimicking a pep talk. She was already toting a large water gun that was about half as big as she was and had a pistol sticking out of her jeans pocket. Next to her, Isabelle was investigating the secrets of yet another water pistol. 

“Here,” Clint said, handing Bobbi something she could only describe as a water shotgun with a strap around it. She put it on her back using the strap diagonally across the chest and armed herself further with two smaller guns. There were a few more weapons still in the chest but Clint closed it after inspecting his water balloon launcher. “Remember, the house is out of bounds.” He gave a stern glance at Lila. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “But not the barn.”

“As long as you don’t shoot in the direction of the horses,” Clint nodded. “So, what’s the plan, Captain?”

“We have to get water for the big guns first,” Lila told them. “The hose is next to the house.”

“The pistols are the only ones pre-filled, for fairness,” Barton reminded Bobbi. All of a sudden a small squirt of water hit him in the face, and they all looked at Isabelle.

“Fun!” she grinned, finger happily on the trigger. 

“Good, but we want to shoot the other team,” Bobbi told her. 

“Oh. Sorry, Clint,” the girl told him bashfully. 

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It was mostly my face, so it won’t count much. We want to shoot your dad, Natasha, Laura, and Cooper so that their clothes get all wet. Sound good?”

Isabelle nodded. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go,” Lila said, motioning them forwards. She led them on a small path through the bushes and around a few trees until the side of the house was visible, at which point they all crouched down to be hidden by the foliage except Isabelle, who was too short for it to matter. “Dad, you go by that side of the house,” Lila pointed towards the corner that connected the front and the side. “Aunt Bobbi and Isabelle, hide in the bushes right across from the hose. I’ll fill the large guns while you guys cover me and roll some water balloons back to you, Dad.” 

Bobbi grinned at Lila’s casual use of spy lingo. “Got it, Captain.” She handed Clint one of her pistols to protect himself with and then took Isabelle’s hand, leading her further on while Clint sprinted across the relatively open section to duck behind the corner of the house. Once they were in position, she made sure Isabelle knew how to shoot and then explained that they were waiting for someone on the other team to attack Lila so that they could get them back. 

“I wanna get Daddy,” Isabelle grinned. 

Bobbi smiled. “You know what? So do I. And Natasha too.”

They didn’t have to wait long. “Ambush!” Clint shouted, and they immediately looked in his direction to see him getting hit with sprays of water as he ran back towards cover. Lila stood up from where she had been filling and began shooting at his attackers.

“Come on! Let’s help!” Bobbi grabbed Isabelle’s hand and they ran towards the water fight, shooting jets of water of their own towards Cooper and Laura. When Clint reached them he turned back and began shooting his wife and son in earnest—meaning with better aim—and the two of them took cover behind the corner of the house where Clint had been previously. 

“Here, Dad,” Lila came running up with her arms full of water balloons. 

Clint laughed maniacally, handing Bobbi back her half-empty pistol. “Now we’re talking. I’M COMING FOR YOU, COOP!” He dashed towards the side of the house with Bobbi and Isabelle following, raising his water balloon launcher and shooting it. Bobbi and Isabelle stopped just in time to see it explode all over Laura, soaking her. “Oops, sorry, I thought you were—” Clint said, looking at his wife apologetically. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Laura said, raising her gun. “All’s fair in love and war, and this is a bit of both.” She sprayed him in the face before taking off while he wiped water out of his eyes. 

“You know it’s really on when she starts making Harry Potter references,” he told Bobbi, reloading his weapon and running off after his wife. 

Beside her, Isabelle shrieked and Bobbi looked down just in time to see a water balloon burst all over the back of her daughter’s shirt. They spun around to see Hunter standing there, holding his own launcher proudly. It was aimed at Bobbi this time. 

“Hey, Bob, hey, Isabelle,” he grinned. 

“I’m all wet!” Isabelle declared, shooting him in the chest. “That’s not nice, Daddy.”

He shot the water balloon at Bobbi, but she managed to bat it away with the muzzle of her gun so that it exploded harmlessly against the ground. Then she raised it and sprayed him, Lila coming up next to her and doing the same so that three jets of water were all hitting Hunter at once. “Hey, you’re teaming up on me,” he complained good-naturedly, trying to load up another balloon amid the spray. 

“We’re in teams for a reason,” Lila stuck her tongue out at him. One by one their guns ran out of water, leaving them defenseless as he finally managed to get another balloon loaded into the chamber. 

“It’s not working anymore, Mommy,” Isabelle said, looking at her gun with a puzzled expression as she continued to pull the trigger. 

“Run, Isabelle!” Bobbi shouted, breaking right as Lila broke left. All three of them sprinted for the hose as Hunter ran after them, albeit much slower thanks to the small pile of water balloons he was forced to carry with him. Bobbi reached the hose first and began filling her large gun and then Isabelle’s smaller one before handing the hose off to Lila. 

“I’m gonna get you, Isabelle!” Hunter called. 

“Come on, we’ll draw him away,” Bobbi said, taking her hand again and heading for the bushes and trees a small ways from the house. Sure enough Hunter chose to chase them rather than go after Lila. 

“Can’t catch us, Daddy!” Isabelle called behind them as they ran. By the time they reached a small copse of ferns to hide in, Isabelle’s cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement. 

“Shhh,” Bobbi whispered, listening for the sound of Hunter’s footfalls on the underbrush. She pointed in that direction, and Isabelle shot her gun right as Hunter appeared, catching him in the chest. 

“Got you!” the four-year-old grinned before taking off back towards the house. “Run, Mommy!”

Bobbi wasn’t so lucky. A balloon exploded against her chest, soaking her all the way through. She looked down at herself, plucking two bits of red plastic off it and pocketing them, and then at him. “You were kinda hoping my shirt would become see-through, weren’t you?”

“Kinda,” Hunter agreed with a sigh. 

She rolled her eyes, shooting him in the chest for good measure before running after Isabelle. The girl was headed for where Lila was still at the hose, topping off her gun as she alternately filled and shot at her mother, who occasionally peeked out from the corner of the house. 

“Hey, Lila,” Cooper called, and with a jolt Bobbi realized he was right behind his sister. Lila turned to receive a water balloon to the left shoulder and then to the stomach as Cooper threw them at her by hand from less than two feet away. Lila narrowed her eyes and leveled the water hose at him, spraying him in the face at full blast. 

“Ack!” Cooper’s hands went up to protect himself too late and he turned and scrambled blindly away from the onslaught, getting completely soaked in the process. Once he was out of range, Lila shut off the water, blowing the pretend smoke off the top of her “gun” with a haughty mischievousness in her eyes. 

“That was awesome!” Isabelle told her, stopping right in front of her with Bobbi not far behind. 

“Served him right,” the older girl grinned. Somehow their entire team ended up together again as Clint sprinted in for more ammo, telltale new water marks splattering his shirt and pants. 

“I see you found some Red Teamers to get shot by,” Bobbi said as she filled her and Isabelle’s guns again. Clint began to pile more water balloons into a pouch he made with the bottom of his shirt, revealing the white of his undershirt underneath. 

“Trust me, the little devil is wetter than I am right now,” Clint said. “What concerns me more is the fact that I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of Nat this entire game.”

“I haven’t seen her either,” Bobbi frowned. “That...can’t be good.”

“No,” Clint agreed. A jet of water hit the ground next to his foot, causing them both to jump and raise their weapons only to find no one there. “Did you just try to squirt me?” Clint asked Isabelle. “I’m on your team, remember?”

“I know!” Isabelle exclaimed indignantly. “I didn’t.”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Bobbi shrugged, picking up the hose she had just dropped. 

“Birdbrains,” someone called. “Look  _ up _ .” The four of them looked confusedly towards the sky. 

“The roof,” Clint said, pointing. Natasha stood on top of it, feet planted firmly against the shingles, holding what looked to be one of the large water guns with a long, stiff tube attached to the front of it. She lifted it—her sniper rifle, Bobbi realized—and sprayed Clint directly in the heart with a smirk. “Hey, you can’t modify the weapons,” he complained as they all raised their own weapons to shoot back up at her. The jets of water reached a few feet below her before gravity pulled them back down to splash in their own faces as Natasha laughed. 

“Oh, this?” she asked, patting the rifle. “I don’t need this.” She pulled a bucket out from behind her, hefting it over the side of the house directly above their heads and tipping it before they even had time to scatter. A torrent of cold water cascaded over the four of them, who were standing so close together that they all were drenched. 

“And  _ that  _ is why we haven’t seen her,” Clint grumbled, spitting out some water and wiping the mop of his own hair off his forehead and slicking it back closer to where it normally went. It half-stayed, half-flopped back, creating weird spikes all over the place. 

“I’m  _ really  _ all wet now!” Isabelle exclaimed. 

“Yeah, I think they win,” Bobbi said, squeezing some of the excess water out of Isabelle’s hair before doing her own. 

“Never give up, never surrender!” Lila shouted, shaking her water gun at Natasha. 

Bobbi looked at Clint. “Oh great, you’ve shown your kids  _ Galaxy Quest _ too.”

“Of course,” he grinned. “But Lila…”

The seven-year-old looked down at her soaked body. “Fine.” She put a hand to her mouth to amplify her voice. “COOPER. I CONCEDE. YOU GUYS WIN.”

“Awesome!” Cooper poked his head out from behind the corner of the house. Natasha disappeared onto some other section of the roof with her weapons, presumably to find her way down. 

“Good game,” Bobbi told Cooper. Hunter appeared next, still holding a couple spare water balloons. 

Isabelle ran up to him. “Can I have a water balloon, Daddy?”

“Sure,” he smiled, giving her a green one. 

She smashed it against his chest, then put her hands on her hips with what she must have thought was a fierce expression. “There. Now we’re even.”

“I suppose we are,” Hunter said, halfway between surprise and laughing at the adorableness of it all. “Who taught you  _ that _ line?”

Isabelle looked back at Lila. “No one.”

Hunter smiled. “Here, put these back for me.” He handed her the remaining two water balloons, and she dutifully dropped them back in the bucket. 

“Not so fast,” Clint said as Natasha and Laura approached. “I believe there’s a rule that says all unused water balloons at the end of the game have to be used on the person who’s least wet.” He looked pointedly at Natasha, who didn’t have a drop on her except for on the sleeves which was likely accidentally self-inflicted just from dealing with leaky toy water guns. 

“What?” she demanded. “That wasn’t a rule last year. You can’t just make it one ex post facto!” 

“All in favor?” Clint looked around at them all. Lila’s and Bobbi’s hands shot up, and with a small nudge from Bobbi Isabelle raised hers too. 

“All against?” Natasha asked. In a show of solidarity, all of Team Red raised their hands. 

“Four and four, your measure fails to pass,” Natasha told him smugly. 

“But the birthday girl’s vote trumps all, so…” Clint grinned. She narrowed her eyes at him, which was all the permission her fellow Avenger needed. “Blue Team, to the water balloons!”

Crossing her arms, Natasha glared at them all as they dragged the bucket closer. Sadly, there were only eleven left. 

Bobbi smiled. Only.

Lila picked up a balloon first and chucked it at her aunt, splatting her across the face. Bobbi made sure her shoulders were thoroughly soaked. Clint’s caught her right in the nose. Isabelle’s mostly hit the ground but a few struck her on the legs and burst on contact, making Isabelle jump up and down with delight. 

When all of the balloons were gone and they had recovered normal oxygen levels despite all of their laughter, they put the weapons back in the toy chests and Bobbi and Hunter and Laura and Natasha dragged them back into the barn and stacked them on top of each other for storage while Clint built a fire in the fireplace so they wouldn’t all freeze. Laura made hot chocolate—with little marshmallows, apparently Isabelle’s favorite part—and they all sat around the fire just exchanging water fight stories and enjoying each other’s company. 

It was a little past seven when Bobbi remembered and her happiness faded away. It was time to leave. 


	34. The Hard Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi, Isabelle, and Hunter return to the base. Bobbi and Hunter share the bad news.

Bobbi gently strapped the left restraint over Isabelle’s small body as the girl wriggled impatiently. “What did I say about staying still?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Isabelle huffed and sat back again, allowing Bobbi to deftly strap the right in. “There you go.”

“Are you sure we can't go back and say goodbye?” Isabelle wanted to know, looking at Bobbi with a plaintive expression. 

“We already said goodbye,” Bobbi told her. “Remember? Laura said you could visit often and Lila put the little flower that's in your hair right now.”

“But we could say bye again,” Isabelle suggested.

“Sorry, love,” Hunter dropped into the seat next to her.”You’re stuck with just us now.” His grin got mischievous. “And look, you're strapped in. No way to escape from…” He whipped his head around to look at her, plunging his hands towards her sides. “... _ the tickle monster _ !”

Isabelle shrieked with laughter, writhing to get away and kicking her feet against the edge of her seat. Smiling, Bobbi made her way to the cockpit to initiate takeoff. She glanced back to make sure everything was stowed before flipping the correct switches to disengage the landing gear and begin the upward thrust, fitting the headset over her ears. 

“Playground Base, this is S.H.I.E.L.D.-616; do you copy?” she asked into the microphone that jutted out near her mouth. 

“We copy, S.H.I.E.L.D.-616,” an agent said on the other end. Agent Kensington? Agent Lord? She couldn't tell over the crackling of the mic and wind noise of the Quinjet. “What is your position? We are currently not able to activate your tracking, over.”

“We are headed back to base now from a classified location, over,” Bobbi said. 

“Copy that, S.H.I.E.L.D.-616. Can you give us an ETA? Over.”

“Playground, I will enable tracking and give you an ETA in one hour, once we are safely away from the classified location,” she replied. “Is there anything we should know before heading in? Any changes with Skye, Mack? Over.”

“No changes to report, ma’am,” came the voice. Definitely Agent Kensington; she was the one who usually bothered to call Bobbi “ma’am” on these transmissions. 

“Thank you, Morse out.” Checking her flight path, she pulled on the throttle to bring them to a full fifteen thousand feet before turning on autopilot. The first stars of the night sky were just visible through the glass of the cockpit as she removed the headset and set it down. She stood up and headed back to where her daughter and ex-husband were sitting. Isabelle’s face was flushed from laughter, but it looked as if their tickle-war was over.

“Hey, Bob, we all set?” he asked, giving her a smile. His eyes, however, held a question within their brown depths.

“Yeah, we’re set,” Bobbi replied, giving him a slow nod as she sank into a chair across from them. They looked at each other, each unsure how to start and hoping the other would take the bullet for them. 

“Isabelle,” Hunter said finally, looking at her carefully, “there’s some stuff we need to tell you before we get back home.”

“Okay,” Isabelle agreed with a smile. “What stuff?”

“Well, there are some changes that happened since we left,” Bobbi said haltingly. 

“I can’t wait until I can see Skye and Jemma and Leo again,” her daughter grinned, attention suddenly elsewhere at the thought of seeing her friends. “And Trip!”

Bobbi’s breath caught in her chest. “That’s the thing, Isabelle,” she choked out. “Trip, he...he won’t be there when we get back.”

“Why not?” Isabelle wanted to know with a small frown. “Then can I call him instead? When will he be back?”

“You can’t call him, love,” Hunter said softly, taking her tiny hands in his. “He’s gone.”

“Trip died, Isabelle,” Bobbi told her in as gentle a voice as she could muster. 

The girl shook her head, getting upset just from Bobbi and Hunter’s tones of voice though Bobbi could tell she didn’t get it. “So...I can’t talk to him?”

“No,” Bobbi shook her head. “Being dead means…” She glanced at Hunter. “It means that his body doesn’t work anymore because he’s no longer inside it. And we can’t see him, or talk to him…”

“And it means you’re very sad,” Isabelle said with a tremble of her lower lip. Her arms snaked around Hunter’s bicep and she pressed her head against his shoulder, voice muffled. “Like Elsa and Anna were when their parents died on the boat.”

It took Bobbi a moment to remember the events of  _ Frozen _ , but it was followed by a helpful flood of realization that they could use movies of Isabelle’s to help her understand the concept. “Yes, and it’s okay for you to be very sad too. Elsa and Anna were sad because they could never see their parents again, just like Trip. Being sad when someone dies is normal...especially when it’s someone as special as he was.”

“Trip is the special- _ est _ ,” Isabelle retorted fiercely. Tears had wet Isabelle’s face now, and when she brought her hand up to her face Bobbi discovered her own had fallen as well. Hunter was not immune either. “But why did Trip have to die?” Isabelle asked. 

“It’s just something that happens,” Hunter told her gently. “Happens to everyone eventually.”

Isabelle shrank back. “ _ Everyone _ ?”

“Not you or me or Daddy for a long while yet,” Bobbi assured her. “And it’s not something to be scared of. It’s like falling asleep—once it happens, there’s no pain, you’re just gone.”

“But you wake up from sleep, right?” the girl sniffled. “Can you wake up from being dead?”

“No,” Bobbi answered regretfully. “No, you can’t.”

“Then I hate death,” Isabelle declared, crossing her arms and squeezing her eyes shut until they presented something more angry than sad. “It’s not fair. I want to see Trip again.” She kicked her feet against the chair. “ _ I want Trip! _ ”

Bobbi immediately stood up, crossing the aisle and falling into the seat next to Isabelle. “So do we, but there’s nothing we can do.”

“ _ I don’t care! I want him! _ ” 

“I know.” Bobbi’s voice was pained, stressed to the breaking point. Her hands deftly undid the straps holding her daughter to the seat—screw protocol for once—and she lifted Isabelle onto her lap, closing her arms over her head and locking her in a tight, warm embrace. “I know. I know you want him back because I do too. I know.” She just held her against her chest, feeling her daughter quake against her as fresh wetness seeped through her shirt. Her eyes met Hunter’s and she wordlessly mouthed,  _ Now what? _

He gave a helpless shrug in return, then reminded her,  _ Skye _ . As if she had forgotten. 

_ Right now?  _ Bobbi questioned, thankful they had always been able to read each other's lips so well. 

He shrugged again, just as lost as she was. “How much time do we have?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Total over four hours—I wanted her to be able to fall asleep before we arrived, so she could wake up in her own bed.”

Hunter checked his watch. “Then we’d better tell her the second part sooner rather than later, or she’ll never fall asleep.”

Bobbi nodded, in agreement but unsure how they were going to get Isabelle to listen to even more bad news when she was already distraught as she was. Eventually, though, the tears slowed and the shaking stopped. 

“Why is he gone?” Isabelle whispered from where she was pressed against Bobbi. 

“Because he died,” Bobbi reminded her gently. 

“But why,” the girl insisted, pulling away a little so that she could look at Hunter too. The determined expression on her face made it clear that whatever she was trying to get at, her parents were the ones not getting it this time. “The big waves caused Elsa’s mommy and daddy to be dead. Why is Trip dead?”

“It…” Bobbi glanced at Hunter. “It was an accident.”

“And it actually relates to something else we wanted to talk to you about,” Hunter continued. 

Isabelle recoiled. “No more talking. No more stuff.”

“I'm sorry, love, but you need to know this before we get back,” he told her softly. “Trip died while trying to help Skye. He was a hero for doing that, but his death was an accident. No one’s fault. No one meant it to happen.”

“‘S Skye okay?” Isabelle asked fearfully. 

“She will be,” Bobbi responded quickly. “Skye is sick right now, though, so we’ll have to stay away from her for a bit.”

“That means Skye’s gone too,” Isabelle trembled, new tears leaking from her eyes. 

“No! No,” Hunter said quickly, taking the metaphorical reins from Bobbi. “No, Skye’s not dead. She's very much alive. But we don't want anyone else getting sick and we want her to rest up and get better, so we leave her alone for a little while.” 

“When will Skye be better?” Isabelle asked suspiciously. “Tomorrow?”

“We don't know,” Hunter admitted. “But Simmons—Jemma—is taking good care of her. Okay?”

“Okay.” Isabelle looked down, dropping her gaze, and somehow Bobbi knew she didn't believe them. 

* * *

Hunter put a finger to his lips, giving her a significant look and a smile as she exited the cockpit to see Isabelle still asleep across his lap despite the noise and slight jolt of the landing procedure. “Impressive,” Bobbi murmured quietly. 

“Lucky, I'd call it,” he whispered back. 

The corner of her lip sneaked upward. “Knowing our luck, think we’ll make it all the way to the bed with her?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” She helped Hunter undo his seat restraints around the girl’s sleeping form, pausing for a moment halfway through unbuckling one of the straps to watch the slight rise and fall of her chest. Then Bobbi slid her arms underneath Isabelle’s shoulders and legs and lifted her up into a comfortable carrying position, resting her head against her elbow and then tilting it against her chest. Hunter yawned and stretched before holding out his arms to take her back. “It's fine; I can do it,” Bobbi told him. 

He gave her a somewhat sheepish look. “I want to.”

Bobbi smiled and handed her over, careful to jostle her as little as possible until she was settled in her ex-husband’s arms. Exiting the Quinjet, they found a haggard-looking May waiting for them. The specialist’s eyes slid over them and Isabelle, assessing what she saw quickly but making no mention of it. Perhaps she was analyzing any clues as to where they had been, but somehow, Bobbi doubted it. There was far too much going on here for May to be concerning herself with Barton and Romanoff’s secrets. 

“Did you tell her?” May asked in a low voice, eyes sliding to Isabelle again as if there was any question of who she was talking about. 

“Yes,” Bobbi nodded. 

“I'm surprised you got her to sleep then,” May noted, gesturing for them to walk with her into the main part of the base. 

“It wasn't easy,” Hunter replied. “We almost thought she wasn't going to by the time we got here, but luckily…”

“That's good,” May said shortly. 

“Any change with Skye?” Bobbi pressed. 

“She woke up a little past seven for a few hours,” May informed them. “Simmons believes that's a sign that she’ll be all right, but still can't be sure seeing as she has no idea what Skye was exposed to in that alien temple.”

“How was she?” 

May glanced at her. “Scared. And alone.”

“Sounds like quarantine,” Bobbi muttered. 

“Coulson, Simmons, and I all spoke to her,” May continued. “But she didn't divulge any new information, and in her current state we didn't want to press.”

“I understand.”

May stopped mid-hallway, turning to the two of them. “All of your stuff from the safehouse has been moved to your rooms.”

“You didn't have to do that—”

“There was nothing else that needed doing,” May cut her off curtly. “And Mack said he needed something to do with his hands as well.”

“Thank you,” she replied, choosing her words more carefully this time. “I'm just not sure how comfortable Isabelle will be there, considering the bombs we just dropped on her and her being alone...”

“I think you'll find that it doesn't look much like it did the last time,” May answered cryptically. “But where you sleep is up to you. Goodnight, Bobbi, Hunter.” She reached out as if to stroke a finger across Isabelle’s cheek and then thought better of it, walking away with some hidden pain lingering deep in her eyes. 

“I guess we go to your rooms then,” Hunter said once she was gone. They headed there as quickly as they dared with a sleeping child in Hunter’s arms. The first thing Bobbi noticed was that the door to Isabelle’s was open, putting the freshly painted light green walls on display. Isabelle’s pink bedcovers were tucked in neatly, and the toys Bobbi and Hunter had bought her were arranged on a new set of wooden shelves that shone a pearly white. The fan was going full blast—explaining the open door—and there wasn't even a whiff of paint smell in the room. 

A soft area rug covered the main section of the floor, which Hunter was careful to step over as he placed Isabelle down gently on the bed after Bobbi pulled the comforter back. She slipped off the tiny shoes covering her feet while Hunter unzipped her jacket. From there Bobbi changed her into a pair of clean pajamas from the dresser and tucked her in. 

She moved toward the door, but Hunter lingered. 

“You want to stay here with her, don't you?” Bobbi asked. 

He smiled helplessly. “Yeah.”

“I'll get you a blanket and a pillow,” she told him, rolling her eyes. It wasn't an annoyed eye roll—somehow she meant it as a gesture of affection. 

And somehow Hunter understood that. 

She brought him back a blanket and a pillow from the storage closet, then leaned over Isabelle and gave her daughter a small kiss on the temple as she slept. “Night, Hunter,” she told him as he made himself comfortable on the floor. In the doorway, she paused, looking back. “And don't make a habit out of this or we’ll never get her to go to bed on her own.”

“Right now I don't really have a problem with that,” came the muffled reply against his pillow. “Night, Bob.”


	35. Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle learns a little bit more about death, and May passes on some wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the depression. It'll look up a little by the end, I promise.

The alarm on Bobbi’s phone went off, waking her from a dead sleep. Less than ten seconds after she’d pressed her thumb against the home button to turn it off, Isabelle slipped through the door and approached her bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Bobbi reluctantly pushed herself up into a sitting position and invited Isabelle to join her despite it being 5:30 AM. 

“Where’s Hunter?” Bobbi yawned. 

“On the floor,” the girl replied helpfully, climbing onto the bed. “I almost stepped on him but then I didn't because that would hurt.”

Bobbi smiled. “That's good; I'm proud of you. That probably would have hurt a lot.”

Isabelle smuggled into her side, pulling the covers over both of them and mumbling into Bobbi’s pillow. 

“What was that?” she asked. 

The girl shifted, voice only slightly more audible this time. “I didn't die.”

“Of course you didn't die,” Bobbi replied, perplexed. She pulled Isabelle onto her lap, tucking her head against her chest. “Why would you say that? Did you think you were going to die? Did you have a nightmare?”

“You said it was like falling asleep,” Isabelle told her. “And that it happens to everyone.”

Adrenaline raced to the tips of her fingers as swirling guilt and regret clenched her heart. “But I didn't mean—” She stopped, took a breath. “Were you really scared of that?” Isabelle nodded. “Then why didn't you tell us?” The girl shrugged her tiny shoulders. Bobbi hugged her. “I wish you would have, we could have reassured you that that's not how death works.”

“Then how does it work?” Isabelle asked. 

“Well…” Bobbi considered what to say—she hadn't thought it out this far. “It's like...it’s like I said, when your body stops working. But it doesn't just stop working for no reason. And your body, and my body, and Hunter’s body...they're all working just fine. Okay?”

“But Trip’s body wasn't?”

“His body was affected by something else,” Bobbi told her. “And it was an accident.”

Isabelle made a face. “I hate accidents.” 

She kissed her head. “Me too. Do you have any more questions, or should we talk about something else while we wait for Hunter-the-sleepyhead to wake up?” 

The girl gave a soft giggle. “Why do you call him that?” 

Bobbi tickled her stomach. “Because he sleeps forever.”

Her eyes got huge. “ _ Forever _ ?” She bolted off Bobbi’s lap and tumbled off the bed, scrambled to her feet and raced out the door. 

“Isabelle, wait, I didn't mean—Damn.” Bobbi shot up after her, making it to the entrance of Isabelle’s room just in time to see her daughter step up on Hunter’s back, give a little bounce, and then jump off again. 

“Daddy, are you dead?” she demanded, plopping down next to his face to peer into it closely. 

His head shot upwards, almost knocking her in the chin. “Ow. No, I'm not dead, love. Just sleeping. Or, I was.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said, sitting back on her heels. “Good.”

“Glad you think so,” Hunter mumbled blearily. “Now can I go back to sleep, or am I going to get stepped on again?”

“Sleep,” Isabelle said. “Your body’s working, right?”

Hunter was so tired he didn't even bother to question the question. “Right.”

“Okay. Sorry for stepping on you, Daddy.” She retreated to where Bobbi was waiting at the door. “Can we get breakfast?”

“After your bath we can,” Bobbi told her. 

Isabelle made a face. “Breakfast and then bath?”

“No,” Bobbi told her with a smile. 

“Bubble bath, and then breakfast.”

“Quite the little negotiator, aren't you?” she laughed. “Fine, you can have bubbles in your bath. Bursting Blueberry or Splashtastic Strawberry?”

“Strawberry,” Isabelle grinned as she followed her into the bathroom. 

“Okay, but you remember that having Splashtastic Strawberry bubbles doesn't mean you actually get to splash me, right?” Bobbi asked, using her semi-stern voice. 

Isabelle deflated slightly. “Yes, Mommy.”

* * *

“So remember, people might be acting a bit sad for a while,” Bobbi told her as she held Isabelle's hand. They turned a corner, headed down the hallway towards the kitchen. “And it's okay to be sad too.” 

Isabelle nodded. “I know.”

The two of them entered the kitchen, which was empty except for specialist sitting at the table staring into the depths of a mug of tea. Isabelle released Bobbi’s hand and ran forward before she could stop her, ducking under the table to scramble onto May’s lap. 

For a moment—just a moment—Bobbi feared this would be the last time she saw her daughter alive if the Cavalry’s specialist instincts kicked in. But after a second of tense shock, May relaxed as Isabelle’s small arms looped around her neck, hugging her tightly. “What's that for?” May asked, using the softest voice Bobbi had ever heard her use. And Bobbi and May went back... _ years _ .

Isabelle shrugged, darting away to attach herself to Bobbi’s leg once more, seemingly shy again. May appeared surprised at the whole exchange, reminding Bobbi of Isabelle’s rocky relationship with May previously. Maybe this would be the first step in getting through it—for both of them. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” Bobbi asked. 

Isabelle looked up at her, tugging on her pant leg. “Can I have pancakes?”

“Sure, I can make that hap—”

“Did I hear someone asking for my famous, one-of-a-kind, buttermilk pancakes?” Coulson questioned, appearing in the doorway. 

“Phil!” Her daughter ran over to give him a big hug. “Do you use the super secret ingredient like Laura?”

Bobbi’s eyes widened, but she didn't know what to do in order to keep more sensitive information from falling out of Isabelle’s mouth. 

Coulson laughed. “I don't know who Laura is, but I certainly do know the secret ingredient! Want to help me make them?”

“Do  _ I _ get to know the secret too?” Isabelle asked, eyes wide. 

“You wouldn't be much of an assistant if you didn't,” the director smiled broadly, moving towards the cupboard where the metal pans were kept. 

As excited as the girl looked, Bobbi took her aside for a moment, turning away from Coulson and lifting her up to speak quietly in her ear. “We’re not supposed to talk about Laura, remember, Isabelle?”

The smile dropped off her daughter’s face. “Oh!” She buried her head in Bobbi’s shirt. “I forgot, Mommy, I'm sorry.”

“No harm done this time, bear, but remember next time, okay?” Bobbi didn't wait for an answer it set her down again, well aware of the curious glance of the director and his second in command. With a small, reassuring push, Isabelle scampered off towards Phil, giggling with delight as he scooped her up, spun her around, and set her on the counter. 

Bobbi took a seat a few comfortable feet away from May, trying not to intrude on the solitary specialist’s space. May nodded her acknowledgment of her presence, then took another sip of tea. “Sleep much?” Bobbi ventured. 

May paused, then shook her head. “And you?”

“All right I guess, considering,” she said, shifting her shoulders slightly in semblance of a shrug. Then they were silent, watching as Coulson taught Skye a pancake-making song. 

“And  _ in _ goes the batter,” Coulson sang loudly. 

“And  _ out _ comes the pancake!” Isabelle finished, reaching out to tip the pan to slide the still-raw pancake out. 

“ _ In one and a half minutes _ ,” the director hastily added in an extra-deep voice, ushering her hands away from the hot pan. Isabelle laughed, kicking her feet against the edge of the counter.

“But that's so long!”

Hunter came in, blearily rubbing his eyes. “Do I smell food?”

“Coming right up,” Coulson told him, unable to catch Isabelle as she took a flying leap off the counter. She hugged Hunter around the legs and he lifted her into a seat at the table. A minute later, Coulson arrived with five plates stacked with pancakes. 

“How did you make so many so fast?” Hunter demanded, eyes popping out as he reached for one of the plates. 

“Trade secret,” Coulson smiled. “Multiple pans.”

“Tricky,” Hunter complimented as he began eating. 

“I helped,” Isabelle told him proudly, stabbing into one of her pancakes with a fork. “Phil told me the secret ingredient but I can't tell you ‘cause it's a secret.”

“No need to tell me, love, as long as you'll keep making me these wonderful pancakes,” Hunter told her with a smile. 

Isabelle giggled. “I will, Daddy, for ever and ever!” Hunter gave her a sideways hug before leaning over to whisper to Bobbi. 

“Remember that for when she's a teenager and wants nothing to do with us,” he said. 

As they made their way through second helpings of pancakes, the rest of the team trickled in: first Mack, who greeted Isabelle with a suspiciously long hug; then Simmons, who sported large dark rings around her somewhat bloodshot eyes that, tactfully, no one mentioned; and finally Fitz, especially quiet and reserved—even more than usual. 

In short, everyone looked like they’d had a bad, bad night. 

“Do you know the secret ingredient?” Isabelle asked, climbing onto Simmons’s lap. 

The scientist blinked, seeming jerked out of her reverie as a small smile appeared on her face. “No, what is it?” 

“Can't tell you,” Isabelle grinned, at the same time as Coulson told her, “Lard.”

Simmons choked and nearly spit out her bite of pancake if not for Fitz clapping her loudly on the back, looking startled. “Sir!” she spluttered. “Really?”

Hunter looked back at his own stack of pancakes and shrugged, biting into his next one. “Oh well. I work out.” He looked up at her. “Right, Bob?” She rolled her eyes. 

“Oh well?” Simmons asked incredulously, rounding on him before turning back to Coulson with an indignant look on her face. “Sir, lard is horrendous for you! A single quarter cup of it is nearly an entire day’s worth of fat and don't even get me started on how much of that is saturated! Of course,  _ some _ saturated fat is needed for bodily functions, but—”

“Simmons, there's no lard in these pancakes,” Coulson assured her. “Eat up.”

“Oh,” was all Simmons said before cutting into her stack again. Bobbi glanced around at the rest of the team, finding that each of them was now wearing a smile, however small. Coulson had succeeded in cheering them up at least a little, lifted the shadow of Skye and Trip’s absence for a moment. 

It occurred to her that as good a strategist and general all-around agent as he was,  _ this _ was why Coulson was the director. 

Breakfast was finished in record time—Coulson’s pancakes really were stuff of legend—and soon Hunter was helping to clear plates while she filled the dishwasher with detergent. “Look at you!” Hunter exclaimed quite loudly, so loudly in fact that Bobbi spun around with her hand flying to where her gun was usually holstered though there was no hint of danger in Hunter’s voice. He was staring at Isabelle, a half-dumbfounded, half-amused expression on his face. “You’re a mess!” 

Isabelle looked up at him, hands sticky with syrup. She wiped them on her shirt, then held them out to him with bits of cotton fuzz stuck fast to her tiny fingers. “All clean now, Daddy!”

“Not quite,” Hunter shook his head, lifting her out of her seat and settling her against his shoulder. “Let’s go get cleaned up and then we can decide what you want to do today, okay, love?”

“I wanna see Skye,” Isabelle told him, oblivious to the hush that fell over the rest of the team at her words as they all froze in what they were doing. She was not oblivious, however, to the ashen look that came over Hunter’s face. Her lower lip trembled, and after a few silent moments with no answer she twisted in his arms to look at Bobbi. “Can I, Mommy?”

“We’ll talk after you get washed up,” Bobbi replied evasively. She nodded to Hunter, her meaning clear.  _ Get her out of here. _

“But—”

“Let’s do as Bob says,” Hunter said, turning and walking out of the room with Isabelle still in his arms. 

The team was still staring at her. Some with pity—Simmons, Fitz. Some wariness—May, Coulson. But it was Mack who spoke first. “Don’t do it, Barbara,” he said in his deep voice. “Don’t take her in there. It’s bad enough being told without seeing with her own eyes—”

“Maybe it’s what she needs to understand, to make sense of all this,” Bobbi answered quietly. “Maybe it’ll be reassuring.”

“Then think about her safety,” Mack pressed, walking forward. He stopped in front of her, drying his hands on a towel. He set it on the counter. “I was taken over by that city too, against my will. It changed me. You know that.”

“She’s not dangerous,” Bobbi countered, looking to Coulson for support. “Right, sir? When you visited her, she wasn’t—wasn’t abnormal?”

“If you mean, did she go postal and try to kill me, the answer is no,” Coulson replied. “But she wasn’t stable either, Agent Morse. She is distraught. Blames herself for what happened to Agent Triplett.”

“But that wasn’t her fault!” Simmons cried immediately. “You told her that, right, sir?”

“Sometimes what we feel is more real to us than the truth,” May responded quietly. 

Coulson nodded. “As the situation is, I’m going to agree with Mack.” He looked at Bobbi. “I’m not going to go so far as to forbid it—this is not an order—but just my advice. Wait a few days, and hopefully Skye will be free to visit Isabelle instead of the other way around, if she’s up for it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mack said. 

“Now, Fitz, Simmons, update me on what you know from the experiments you ran last night,” Coulson said, gesturing them out of the kitchen with him. “And Mack, the Quinjet engines—”

“I’m on it,” Mack told him. With one last glance at Bobbi, he left as well. 

It was just Bobbi and May now, and Bobbi turned to leave. “Wait,” the specialist said from behind. Bobbi did, to find the woman gazing at her with a particular intensity. “It’s your decision, Bobbi,” May told her, “but I disagree with Coulson and Agent Mackenzie.”

“You do?”

“The best thing in Skye’s life right now might not be the team working night and day to find out what happened to her,” May replied. “It might be a little girl coming to see her not caring that anything happened to her at all.”

* * *

Both hands were pressed lightly into Isabelle’s shoulders as she spoke to her firmly. “Stay here, all right?” 

“Okay, Mommy.” Isabelle nodded solemnly, and Bobbi turned away. She rounded the corner, the quarantine area coming into view. She tapped in her PIN code on the door and heard it unlock, allowing her into the room where Skye’s glass box was housed. The hacker had appeared to be asleep, but upon hearing the click of the door she sat up immediately, eyes wide.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Bobbi asked. 

Skye shook her head. “I haven’t been able to sleep since…”

“How are you doing?” she asked, approaching the glass. 

The younger agent shrugged noncommittally. “Okay, I guess. Simmons is running more tests. I’m not quite sure how much blood I have left to give.” Her dry attempt at humor fell flat. “Well, thanks for stopping by, Bobbi.”

“I have something for you,” she said, alarmed by the somewhat vacant look in the hacker’s eyes but determined not to be sent away that quickly. She shrugged the small backpack off her shoulders, setting it in the bin sticking out from the glass and pushing it through the contraption to Skye. “Quarantine survival kit, built from my own experience.”

Looking a bit intrigued for the first time, Skye shifted to swing her legs over the side of the bed, bringing her pale face closer to the light. The rings around her eyes looked especially dark as she passed the lamp, her barely feet moving unsteadily across the floor. Unzipping the backpack, she pulled out a deck of cards. “For solitaire,” Bobbi supplied. Homemade trail mix. “If you want to eat healthy.” Full-size Twix and Snickers bars. “And if you don’t.” Skye set two soda cans on the mini lab table next. “Cactus Cooler. You can only get it in California—I keep a stash. It’s the best,” Bobbi smiled at her. 

The corners of Skye’s mouth twitched upwards back. “Thanks. I...I was beginning to feel like a leper.”

“Are you kidding?” She moved closer to the glass. “You were taken hostage by three known murderers, you gunned Ward down, then were blasted by an alien chemical weapon and walked out unscathed. Leper? I think you're a rockstar.” Skye dropped her gaze, unable to look Bobbi in the eyes, but she pressed onward. “And right now, your biggest fan would like to come in and see you.”

Skye’s head lifted. “My biggest fan?” She bit her lip. “Isabelle?”

“If that’s okay,” Bobbi told her. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Skye, but she...she’s scared. Seeing that you’re okay would do a lot for her.”

“But I’m not okay,” Skye said miserably. Catching Bobbi’s confused look, she added, rubbing her arms, “I mean, we don’t know for sure. I just…” Her mouth twisted, a line of misery. “...three days ago, Simmons and I were arguing about whether the Black Widow and Hawkeye wore friendship necklaces...”

“Something different about you or not, you would never hurt her,” Bobbi assured her. “I’m willing to take the risk. Are you?”

Slowly, Skye nodded.

Bobbi smiled. “I’ll go get her.” She came back leading Isabelle by the hand. The girl immediately ran over to the glass enclosure, pressing both palms up against it. In the few moments of Bobbi’s absence, Skye had situated herself so that the bed lay between her and them looking decidedly uncomfortable—as if she felt they needed that extra layer of protection. 

“Hi Skye!” Isabelle waved happily. 

“Hi Isabelle,” the hacker replied, sounding unsure of herself as she twisted her red, plastic S.H.I.E.L.D. medical bracelet around and around her wrist. 

Isabelle tapped on the glass, looking at Bobbi. “Why is this here, Mommy?”

“So that if Skye is sick, she doesn’t infect anyone before Jemma can make her better,” Bobbi told her. 

Isabelle’s eyes widened and she whipped her head back to stare at Skye. “Skye, are you sick?”

“I hope not,” Skye said, finally skirting around the bed to come a little bit closer to them. “But maybe, yeah.” Looking very unsure of herself, she sat down cross-legged in front of Isabelle, the thick pane of glass between them. 

“But you’re not gonna die like Trip, right?” Isabelle asked in a small voice. “Stay away from accidents. Accidents are bad.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Skye told her. They stared at each other for a whole minute. “ _ Do you want to build a snowman? _ ” Skye sang softly. “ _ Come on, let’s go and play— _ ”

Isabelle smiled widely. “Yes!” She looked around. “But there’s no snow…”

“Look,” Skye said, then leaned forward and breathed gently against the glass, covering it in a misty sheen. She traced the shape of a snowman through the fog on the glass, adding a carrot nose and two stick arms. 

“I wanna try, I wanna try!” Isabelle exclaimed happily, clapping her hands. She puffed at the glass, expelling all of her air in one giant  _ whoosh _ . 

“Breathe softly,” Skye advised with a smile. “Like this.” She demonstrated. 

This time Isabelle’s side of the glass fogged up too. 

They drew snowmen together for the rest of the morning.


	36. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye gets released from quarantine.

“Mommy, mommy, look at that!” Isabelle tugged on her pant leg. “The cup is moving!”

“What?” Bobbi shook her head without lifting it, still staring down at the charts Simmons had given her. “Give me a second, Isabelle.” She scanned the last part quickly, but Simmons had been right—Skye’s bloodwork was all normal. Not even her white blood cell count was up, or any other signs that her immune system had been kicked into high gear recently by an alien pathogen. Nothing like what they had seen in Mack’s charts, with T-cells and hormones completely out of whack. Skye was utterly normal. Thank God.

“Hmm?” Bobbi turned to Isabelle. “Did you say something about moving?” 

“It's not doing it anymore now,” Isabelle pouted, staring at her cup of hot chocolate. “I wanted you to see. It was really cool; I wasn't touching it or anything!”

“You sure you weren't kicking the table leg?” she smiled knowingly.

For some reason, Isabelle’s frown turned into a scowl. “No! I said I wasn't doing it!”

“Well, cups don't move on their own,” Bobbi laughed. She glanced at Skye, who was sitting across from Isabelle and still behind the containment glass. The hacker dropped her gaze almost immediately, returning it to her cocoa and seeming to shrink into herself for some reason. “Why don't you finish up your tea party with Skye so she can get some rest before Jemma comes and confirms the results?”

“It's not a tea party, it's a hot chocolate party,” Isabelle told her, still trying hard to keep her small eyebrows in an angry V. 

“So...was nothing off in my bloodwork?” Skye asked Bobbi, disbelief clear in her voice.

“Unless Simmons has found something new, no,” Bobbi smiled at her. “I’ll go tell her I agree with her initial assessment now. Isabelle, stay here, okay?”

“Okay,” Isabelle said, lifting her cup to her mouth. “But Mommy, is Skye not sick after all?”

“She's gotten a lot better,” Bobbi replied evasively, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. Isabelle's arm unexpectedly snaked around her neck, pulling her ear close to her face. 

“But...she still has to rest? And her face is white, just like my mommy’s was after Daddy got sick,” Isabelle whispered. “Are you sure she's okay? ‘M almost five; you can tell me.” She jutted out her bottom lip, trying to look tough. 

Bobbi wondered where she’d copied that expression from. It was adorable. “Let's just let Jemma do her job. I'll be right back.” She stepped away towards the door. 

“Bobbi, can you find Fitz and tell him to meet me here?” Skye asked. “I just...need to talk to him.”

“Sure,” she replied with a nod. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

She headed to the lab where she’d picked up the test results from Simmons in the first place. Coulson and Fitz were also inside—just the people she need to see. “Simmons, anything new on Skye’s condition?”

“Not a thing,” the young Brit shook her head. “Was I right that there was absolutely nothing off about her blood? It just seemed too good to be true…”

“I agree, but that's what I see as well,” Bobbi shrugged, handing her back Skye’s chart. “After what happened to Trip, maybe the universe decided we all deserved a lucky break.”

“I hope so,” Simmons said. “I’m very glad to be able to deliver the good news and release Skye from quarantine though. If that's all right, sir?” 

“She's been in there long enough,” Coulson gave his permission. 

Bobbi turned to the only person in the room who had yet to say anything. “Fitz, Skye also said she wants to talk to you.” 

“Okay, I’ll come down with you,” he nodded. Simmons hugged Skye’s chart to her chest like the miracle it was as she made a beeline for the door, obviously intent on getting to quarantine and releasing Skye as soon as possible. 

Isabelle had just finished the last of her hot chocolate as Bobbi returned, so she cleared saucers and cups for Isabelle, Thor the monkey, and Hoppity the bunny but was unable to do so for Skye, the fourth member of the tea party, because hers was on the other side of the glass. Simmons finished explaining her findings in detail to Skye, who Bobbi was saddened to see hadn't regained any of her usual color to her pale cheeks at the good news. Perhaps she was still in shock. Bobbi knew how much she had truly believed something had changed about her. 

Coulson inputted a passcode on the quarantine door look, and it unsealed with a small  _ whooshing _ sound. Still in a hospital gown, Skye stepped out of her glass box on somewhat unsteady feet. Fitz reached out for a comforting hug about the same time as Simmons did, but they were both beaten by the little blonde ninja zipping between their legs to engulf Skye first in a giant bear hug. 

* * *

A sudden stabbing weight plunging down upon her abdomen caused Bobbi to jolt awake to find a pair of bony knees planted in her stomach, petite hands pressed into the mattress behind her ears and tugging uncomfortably on stray strands of her hair, and a small face gazing into hers from just a few inches away. "Ow! Isabelle," Bobbi grunted, shifting. She freed her arms from the mess of bedding to lift Isabelle into a less painful position laying on top of her. 

"Did I hurt you?" Isabelle asked, blue eyes wide and worried. 

"It's okay now," Bobbi rasped, "but remember, I'm not a jungle gym, okay?"

"Okay, sorry, Mommy," the girl said, snuggling in and propping her arms up against the bottom of Bobbi's ribcage. 

"Why didn't the alarm go off when you went out of your room, bear?" Bobbi asked, slowly becoming aware of the pounding headache in her skull. 

"It is going off," Isabelle informed her, and Bobbi felt all of the air whoosh out of her chest as Isabelle uncrossed her arms and let herself down with a  _ fwump! _ , reaching for the phone on the nightstand. She was right, Bobbi could hear the shrill tones of the alarm now, but not for long as Isabelle's little fingers danced against the screen and it abruptly shut up. 

"Where did you learn that?" Bobbi croaked as Isabelle let it ban are the nightstand.

Isabelle laughed. "It's easy." The girl resettled herself over Bobbi, gazing down at her. "You don't look good, Mommy." 

"Thanks, Isabelle," Bobbi coughed derisively, feeling each word scrape against her suddenly raw throat as she said it. "I feel bad too." 

Isabelle frowned and her eyebrows drew together, evaluating her carefully. "You look white like Skye did in quaranthing and like Mommy did before." 

"I think I might have caught a bit of a cold,” Bobbi said with visible effort. 

"So Skye is contay...contay-gee-ous after all?" Isabelle asked. 

"Contagious," Bobbi told her. "And no, it has nothing to do with Skye. But if you don't want to get sick too, you should probably go find Hunter and stay with him for a while."

"I wanna stay with you," Isabelle snuggled up against her further. 

Bobbi tapped her on the nose. “No, bear, then you might get sick too.”

“I don't care,” Isabelle placed her head on Bobbi’s chest, ear close to the pumping of her heart. 

“Trust me, you will—having a cold is no fun,” she groaned. 

Isabelle lifted herself up on her elbows again to gaze at her face, evaluating carefully. “I like your cheeks better pink.” 

“So do I,” Bobbi laughed. “And you know what? I like your cheeks pink too. So why don't you go and find Hunter and tell him I said he should make you whatever you want for breakfast?”

“ _ Whatever _ I want?”

“Within reason,” Bobbi amended quickly. She remembered Isabelle’s words from the day before. “And since you're almost five now, I'll even let you go by yourself. But straight from here to his room, okay? You know how to get there?”

“Yeah!” Isabelle grinned, looking proud of herself. She clamored off of Bobbi and the bed. “See you later, Mommy!” The door slammed shut behind her in her excitement and Bobbi groped for the phone. She found her ex-husband's contact and sent a quick text. 

_ Isabelle on her way to you. Not feeling well.  _

He only took a few seconds to reply.  _ Okay, I'll be on the lookout. You all right, Bob? _

She gave a small smile. _ Just a cold. I'll be fine in a few hours.  _

_ I believe you mean six to seven days, super-healing-woman. No mission, so you have time to rest. Stay in bed. _

_ That's likely.  _

_ I'm serious, Bob.  _ Before she had a chance to reply, a second text came through.  _ Isabelle just arrived. Gtg. Don't you dare get up! Will bring breakfast to you.  _

_ You spoil me _ , she wrote, then erased it. The affectionate sarcasm wouldn't necessarily come across in a text.  _ Going to medical for a thermometer, _ she said instead, adding a  _ :P _ at the end just for him. 

Now she just had to drag herself down there...

* * *

Pushing open the door to the lab, Bobbi moved slowly and weightily inside, letting it shut behind her with a slight bang against the plastic frame fitted with glass. A few scientists were working at their stations with microscopes and centrifuges and the like, but it was Simmons who looked up from her work when Bobbi began making her way across the lab floor, letting herself go slow in case she started to feel woozy again. God, she hated being sick. 

"Are you all right, Bobbi?" Simmons asked, stripping off her blue latex gloves and coming nearer concernedly. 

"I'm fine," Bobbi waved her off. "Just a little under the weather, I think. I was just headed to the med bay to take my temperature."

"You feel like you have a fever?" the young scientist asked, reaching up to press her hand against Bobbi's hot forehead. She swatted her hand away before she could get that far.

"Yeah, but it's probably no big deal. I don't feel that hot. Just taking it to make sure."

"Ah, of course, I'm sure there's nothing seriously wrong with you," Simmons shook her head. "After all, before this you were the very picture of health!" She caught Bobbi's eye. "Right, I'll come with you and help you out."

"Totally not necessary," Bobbi told her with a smile, moving to go past her to medical. "I've got a Biology degree, Jemma; I think I can take my own temperature."

"A Biology degree, though admirable, is not a degree in medicine!" Simmons called after her. 

"Neither is a Ph.D in Biochem!" she replied without looking back, pushing through the opposite glass door to make it to the hallway adjoining the med bay. 

The door closed rapidly behind her but not before she heard her friend reply something that sounded suspiciously like, "That's two Ph.Ds, Agent Morse!"

She smiled to herself again before grimacing as she swallowed and was suddenly overcome with the urge to cough. That only served to rough up her already tender throat more as she located the temporal thermometer in one of the drawers. Pressing the central button, she placed it against her forehead when it beeped and listened to it trill as she slid it all the way down one side just past her left temple. 101.2 degrees. She did the same on the right side. 100.9 degrees. Either way, a decent-magnitude fever. 

Damn.

Bobbi sterilized the head of the thermometer and set it back where she'd found it. With all the hectic things going on and having a four-year-old in the midst of it all—and having as her other caretaker a man who oftentimes acted like a six-year-old himself—there was only one thing she could do at this point. 

She headed for the garage. 

When she arrived she was glad to find neither Fitz nor Mack inside, not really in the mood for company right now. She crossed over to the black van in the corner permanently out of commission due to it being riddled with bullet holes. In addition to embedding themselves in every single one of its tires, they had also cut through the lines for getting gasoline to the engine, for getting gas to the tank, for power steering, for braking, for pretty much everything a car was ever supposed to do. As such, it was such a costly and time consuming job for Mack to repair, so it had been sitting in a corner ever since and being occasionally raided for spare parts whenever Coulson cut down on a machinery order. The agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.—well, particularly Bobbi, Hunter, and previously Isabelle Hartley—had taken to stashing stuff in there, although she could never tell if Hunter knew his hiding spot had been compromised by the two of them. 

Bobbi heaved open the door with one hand—usually that was a tug, but apparently not today in her current state—and lifted the floormat of the right side to reveal two cases of beer nestled beneath. She removed them and set them on the seat, then reached forward into the cavity originally used for weapons stashing when traveling across national borders to pull out a cardboard box half-full of Cactus Cooler. Pulling one out and setting everything back, Bobbi had to admit that she wasn't sure Hunter  _ didn't _ know about her stash but she'd never found any missing—possibly because he knew if he stole some of hers she'd steal some of his and his favorite beer was much more precious to him anyway. 

Armed with the soda, she made her way back to her room to fashion her patented concoction, for which Cactus Cooler was the principal ingredient. Raiding the emergency rations they all kept under their beds, she pulled out a packet of orange-flavored Vitamin C powder and dumped into into the sugar-infused soda. Bobbi downed it with a couple ibuprofen. The intensity of the taste was electrifying from when it hit her tongue—almost stinging with sensation—all the way down to three minutes later when her fatigue was all but gone. Bobbi smiled, reassured again of the usefulness of her own formula. It was a hundred times better than Red Bull—the strongest concoction she'd drunk since college when she was downing the equivalent of caffeine-infused sludge to keep up with all of her classes and to pull consecutive all-nighters in order to graduate on time with a double major in Biology and Foreign Relations as well as minors in Spanish and Mandarin. 

She'd been a bit of an overachiever at that point in her life, but she couldn't deny it served her well now.

Coming out of her room, she spotted Hunter and Isabelle coming towards her down the hallway carrying a large tray and a fistful of silverware and napkins, respectively. 

The Earth tipped and Bobbi nearly lost her balance, knees threatening to buckle underneath her as she tried desperately to remain upright. A moment later everything steadied—fat lot of good her conviction was doing her if she was still having random bouts of dizziness. But then she looked up and saw that Hunter and Isabelle looked equally shaken. 

“What was that?” Isabelle demanded. 

“Earthquake,” Hunter replied. 

She looked up in alarm. “Is the ceiling going to fall down?”

“No, no, of course not; it wasn't a big one,” Bobbi assured her. To Hunter, she added, “Thought I'd grown used to those from the two years we spent in California, but that one still startled me.” 

Hunter shrugged, holding up the tray. “Breakfast survived.”

“Hey!” Fitz came hurrying towards them. “It didn't hurt any of you, did it?”

“The quake?” Bobbi shook her head. “No, thanks for asking. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Just, ah, have to check the power relays, make sure none of them were damaged,” the engineer said, beginning to edge past them down the hallway. 

“The lights are still on, so I think we’re all good on that count, mate,” Hunter pointed out. 

“Well, if you want the base to potentially blow up because of a crushed circuit in the main breakers, by all means, do a bloody systems analysis based on the fluorescent lights!” Fitz burst out. 

“Hey, chill, mate, I was just trying to be helpful,” Hunter said, looking bewildered as Bobbi at Fitz’s outburst. “You were right; the breakers probably aren't made to withstand this sort of thing. We were just saying how odd it is to get an earthquake here, right, Bob?”

If anything, Fitz seemed to become more flustered by this statement. “It's not strange at all. More fault lines exist than you think, all across the North American continent! And don't get me started on how climate change is affecting the movement of tectonic plates—”

“That's okay, Fitz, we’re good,” Bobbi replied quickly. “Go check the breakers.” 

Without another word, Fitz sped off again. “What was that about?” Hunter asked, staring after him. 

“Is the base okay?” Isabelle asked. “Is it really gonna blow up?”

“No, of course not, Leo was just making a point,” Bobbi responded immediately. “He's a lot more careful than Daddy, and that's a good thing.”

Isabelle turned to him. “Mommy says you need to be more careful.”

“I heard her, love,” Hunter said, shooting Bobbi a somewhat nasty look. “Here, have some breakfast.”


	37. Death Throes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team attends a funeral, and things with Skye come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might guess from the title, this is...not a happy one.

“Bob, I’m serious,” Hunter said, digging through the drawers to the small dresser again. “She doesn’t own any black clothes besides pants! Everything else is bright-colored, pink and turquoise and green…”

“We could go to the store…” Bobbi checked her watch. “It starts in half an hour.” 

Hunter nodded. “If I take the car now…”

May appeared in the doorway. “No one is taking a car.”

“But—” Hunter began. 

“Funeral begins in twenty-seven minutes. Choose another color.” May turned away, walking down the hallway as if she’d never stopped. “I'm wearing white.”

Bobbi and Hunter stared after her. “What was that about?” Hunter murmured. “Wasn't like I was suggesting I’d ditch, or anything.”

Her mouth twitched. “Well, last time you made a quick trip to the store, it took six hours…”

“Not my fault they had samples!” She rolled her eyes at him and he huffed. “You know, Trip would have understood; he knew the value of free food...or any food at all…” His voice trailed away into silence. 

Isabelle tugged on her shirt, saying softly as if afraid to break the sudden quiet, “Mommy, I'm okay with white.”

Bobbi snapped back to business, smoothing down the front of her dress shirt. “Hunter, does she have any shirts in white?” 

“Yes,” he gave her a weak smile, pulling the article of clothing in question from the drawer. She took it from him and smoothed it out on the bed. “And hey, what about that white-and-pink skirt you got her when we were shopping for more clothes to show off our parenting prowess to the social worker?”

Bobbi nodded approvingly as he held it up. “Good one.” The skirt was mostly white with a light pink flower design flowing across its silly length. She looked down at Isabelle. “How's that?” 

“Perfect,” the girl smiled, but it faded quickly. She stared nervously at Bobbi, playing with the hem of her current shirt. “Can you tell me again what's gonna happen?”

Hunter went to close the door to give them some privacy for Isabelle to change in while Bobbi nodded. “We’re going to say goodbye to Trip for the last time, and honor his memory by recognizing everything that made him so special.”

“But what if I don't want to say goodbye,” Isabelle said in a small voice. “Ever.”

Bobbi and Hunter exchanged glances over her head. “Well, love, it's just something we do after people pass away.”

“What does ‘pass away’ mean?” 

“Die,” Bobbi told her gently. 

Hunter acknowledged her help and then continued. “It's a sign that we loved them very much. You loved Trip, didn't you?”

Their daughter nodded. 

“Then now is your chance to tell him.” Hunter gave her a reassuring smile. “It'll be okay. We’ll be right next to you the entire time, and you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with.”

“Okay,” Isabelle murmured. Bobbi couldn't tell if she was convinced or not, but she took the opportunity anyway to begin dressing her. When they were finally all ready—Bobbi in a dark red top and black pants and Hunter looking smart in a suit she hadn't even known he owned; it was so un-Hunter-like—they headed down to the lounge a few minutes early.

The lounge appeared to have been completely renovated for the event. Where Trip’s coffin previously would barely have fit amongst the squashy armchairs and sofa that usually sat there, all those pieces of furniture had been removed to give the coffin plenty of room around it. It was situated around waist-height on a lacquered wooden table that matched the few slivers of wood they could see beneath the enormous United States flag draped over it. The lights had also been rigged to make the room fairly dim, although the coffin itself was well-lit—probably the work of Fitz or even May, who knew her way around the base and its capabilities perhaps even better than the engineer did. As they came around to the front of the coffin, they could see the message inscribed into the dark wood making up its smallest side, closest to to where Trip’s stone feet would be, if Simmons had managed to locate them among the rubble. Bobbi hadn't seen the point in asking. 

_ Agent Antoine Triplett  
_ _ Remembered for his unwavering selflessness, humor, and heart  
_ _ Rest in peace.  _

Bobbi swallowed and felt Hunter give a small shudder of emotion beside her. His hand was gripped tightly in her left, while her right gently pulled Isabelle closer to hug her into her side. Feeling another presence in the room, Bobbi looked up suddenly and was startled to see May, Coulson, and Simmons already standing like statues in the shadows, May silent and still with her head bowed, Coulson staring intently at the coffin with an anguished expression on his face, and Simmons completely motionless except for the glistening tears sliding slowly but steadily down her face. 

Mack came in next just as Bobbi, Isabelle, and Hunter took their places next to May. He was also in a suit and tie and somehow looked even odder to Bobbi than Hunter, familiar as she was with Mack’s wardrobe of ratty, perpetually grease-stained T-shirts and steel-toed work boots. He greeted Bobbi and Hunter with silent hugs, which neither he nor Hunter protested for once, and gave two soft strokes down Isabelle’s hair, cradling the back of her head for a few moments before letting her go. 

Fitz and Skye were the last to arrive though still a half minute early. He entered first in a dark suit with her following in a black dress that accentuated the sudden slimness of her figure—not in the healthy weight-loss-through-exercise sort of way, but the stress- or sickness- kind. Bobbi swallowed again as she saw Skye’s shaking hand be enveloped in Fitz’s for a quick squeeze before he moved away from her to stand by Jemma, who laid her head on his shoulder. Skye’s eyes, like the young biochemist’s, were already filled to the brim with tears. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Coulson said in a low voice. As one, they all shuffled closer to the coffin in their circle around it, bringing them into the light. May was indeed wearing white. “I know it's been a busy time…” He glanced at Skye. “...for some of us, an especially trying time, but today to honor the life of our fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Antoine Triplett. He was a good man, a good agent, and above all, a true friend to everyone who had the fortune to meet him.”

They all nodded, and next to her Hunter breathed, “Hear, hear.”

If Coulson heard him or not was impossible to tell, but Bobbi imagined he wouldn't care if he did. Even if Coulson was directing it, the funeral was for the benefit of all of them. For closure. “I know not all of us are from the same faith. Not all of us have faith.” Mack’s hand slipped into his pocket, and Bobbi knew he was reaching for the steel crucifix he always kept there. “But Trip was raised a Christian, and as far as I know, he died one as well. He died with the hope of a better place, of peace, rest, and fulfillment...a place of people being reunited in love.” Coulson paused. “Right now, faced with the impossible task of saying goodbye to him forever, I sincerely hope he was right.”

“I know we’re all feeling loss, grief, pain—” His eyes strayed to Skye again. “—and perhaps even a little guilt. Every one of us here has had our life touched or even saved by Trip. He was one of those few special people who leave a lasting mark wherever they go. I can say with all certainty that the world is a better place because Antoine Triplett walked on it.”

Coulson looked around at them all, meeting each of their eyes—even Isabelle’s. “I think, as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, it's all too easy to try to push this to the back of our minds, to compartmentalize, to force ourselves on with our lives because our job was Trip’s job too, and we think it's what he’d want. But I think he’d also want us to recognize our emotions and share them with each other, not build up walls in our minds and between each other. Trip wasn't about building walls—just bridges. It's important for us to acknowledge and accept that something fundamental has changed within our lives, and our team.” Coulson bowed his head, and slowly, everyone else’s did the same. Isabelle's hand clutched hers. “Farewell, Agent Triplett. It won't be the same without you.” Even softer, “Thank you for your sacrifice.” 

Raising her head, May motioned silently for them all to move away from the coffin, leaving just Coulson standing there with his head down. After a few moments, he moved to the base of it where Bobbi, Hunter, and Isabelle had previously been standing and traced the words inscribed into the wood with his finger. His lips moved but whatever he said, Bobbi couldn't make it out in the dim lighting, even though the room was quiet. He patted the American flag on top, smoothing out the tiniest of wrinkles in the thick cloth. 

Then the director stepped away, joining them. May approached next, standing in front of it and bowing her head so that her dark hair fell in waves obscuring her face. She stood there like that for so long, rigid, that Bobbi couldn't help but wonder if she was crying. 

When May came back, though, her eyes were clear. Fitz went next, and returned with eyes that were red-rimmed and sad. Simmons followed after him, dissolving into tears before she’d even reached the coffin. She barely mumbled out a few words before stumbling back to Fitz, resting her head against his chest as they wrapped their arms around each other. Isabelle buried her face in Bobbi’s thigh, and she lifted up the little girl to settle her on her hip, feeling her tears begin to soak into her shoulder. Mack simply bowed his head silently with both palms flat against the flag before returning to his place. If Bobbi wasn't mistaken, he’d traced the sign of the cross on the wood with his thumb before walking away. 

With another squeeze Hunter let go of her hand to step forward. He rested his palm on the blank wood underneath the flag and above the inscription. “Bye, mate,” she heard him say. 

His fingers lightly touched hers as they switched places—a sign of support, of encouragement. Her daughter’s weight was heavy on her left side as she brought her forward before leaning down so Isabelle could run her hand along the wood’s glossy surface. “Don't know what to say,” she said, muffled into Bobbi’s ear. 

“Just tell him how much you loved him, bear,” she whispered back, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s temple. “And say goodbye.” 

Bobbi watched the pulse of her daughter's jugular as she gulped and twisted in her arms to face the coffin, little fingers just barely brushing the red stripe of the flag. “I love you, Trip,” the girl said as clearly as she could muster. “A lot.” She wriggled to be set down and Bobbi did so. Isabelle wrapped her arms around the base of the coffin, hugging it tightly. “Bye-bye.”

Placing a hand gently on her back, Bobbi steered her back towards Hunter, leaving her alone staring at the stars and the stripes.  _ Bye, Trip _ , she thought silently.  _ Thank you for being so good to my daughter.  _

She stepped away from the coffin and back to the group. Hunter had Isabelle in his arms now, her head buried in his chest. It was just Skye left now to pay her respects before the funeral was over, but the hacker hadn't moved. Taking one look at the anguished expression on her face as she stared hopelessly at the coffin as tears spilled from her eyes, Bobbi honestly wasn't sure she’d be able to. Fitz seemed to notice as well—he’d seemed to have one eye constantly on Skye ever since she was released from quarantine—and he let go of Simmons long enough to place a hand on her shoulder and give her a small nod. Skye didn't even bother to wipe her eyes as she stepped past Bobbi though they were so filled with liquid she didn't know how the young agent could see. Somehow Skye managed to make it to the edge of the coffin and there she stopped, frozen. 

Bobbi looked away, feeling self-conscious for watching this private moment, though she’d watched all the others. She stroked Isabelle’s hair as Hunter cradled her against his chest, waiting for it to be over so they could all go back to their regularly scheduled programming that wasn't so filled with death and sadness. 

And she instantly felt guilty for thinking that. Trip deserved to be honored. It was just...she just didn't want to see the ones she loved unhappy any longer. 

The ground trembled beneath her feet. 

“ _ I DID THIS _ !” Skye’s sudden shriek made them all jump, even May, although her decidedly less than the rest of them. “ _ IT'S MY FAULT _ .” Bobbi had never heard Skye’s voice so shrill before, unearthly, almost inhuman in its utter distress. The ground shook unmistakably this time, the complex shuddering and groaning around them. Bobbi pushed Hunter towards the floor, crouching down and ready to shield Isabelle with her body, although from what she didn't know. The ceiling? “Trip, I'm so sorry. I did this. It's my fault. It's my fault,” Skye sobbed from behind them. Bobbi’s head twisted to look. 

“I'm doing this,” Skye whispered. A giant crack was heard overhead, and a fissure appeared, running fast along the ceiling in five different directions. Centered around Trip’s coffin. Centered around  _ Skye _ . 

“You're doing this?” Coulson sounded shocked, his voice filled with disbelief that quickly turned to despair. Fitz nodded, and all of a sudden Bobbi realized the reason for all of his recent behavior.  _ He knew.  _

“Skye, you have to stop.” May stepped towards her. 

“I can't,” the hacker choked out. “I can't, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault.” Her palms were upturned now and she was staring at them, teardrops falling thick and fast and splashing them with water. 

“No, Isabelle!” Bobbi shouted, but it was too late. The girl had somehow wiggled out of Hunter and Bobbi’s embrace and was now running full-tilt towards Skye. She wrapped her arms around the agent’s thigh. 

With one frightened look down at the little girl clutching her leg, Skye pushed her off and ran out of the room. Isabelle landed hard on her bottom, bony elbows the only thing that kept her head from smacking against the carpet. Bobbi and Hunter rushed towards at the same time as May and Fitz rushed after Skye, Coulson in hot pursuit. Simmons just stood there in shock. “But the lab results…” Bobbi heard her say. 

“Isabelle, are you all right?” she demanded as soon as she reached her, landing hard on her knees as they literally buckled beneath her in her hurry to get to her daughter. 

Hunter fell to his knees with a little more grace. “Love, please talk to us—are you hurt?”

“I'm okay, Mommy, Daddy,” Isabelle said, struggling up toward them from lying on her back. Not one to take the word of a child, Bobbi and Hunter quickly checked her over. Her elbows and tailbone would probably be a little bruised tomorrow, but Isabelle was right, she would be fine. 

“She good?” Mack asked in his deep voice, jerking Bobbi from her complete mother-mode. 

“Yeah, she's fine,” she said weakly. 

Mack nodded. “Then I'll go help find Skye. And get some ICERs on the way.” 

Bobbi swallowed but felt no inclination to argue. Skye had just pushed her four-year-old daughter to the ground. And the floor was  _ still  _ shaking. “Find her,” she said. 

* * *

“And you really aren't worried about Skye?” Bobbi asked, tucking the covers more tightly around Isabelle. Hell,  _ she _ was worried about Skye. Though it had taken the team less than fifteen minutes to catch her, it had taken a round of the ICER’s new dendrotoxin to make the shaking stop. Now she was in the vibranium-walled cell on the Bus with a two-man, three-hour rotation on her until she woke up. Bobbi was on at 1:00 AM; Hunter at 4:00. 

“Nope,” Isabelle shook her head. 

“Even though she knocked you down?” Hunter asked. 

The girl shook her head, looking surprisingly happy for all the events of the day. “Nope. She's just like Elsa. Elsa hurt Anna by accident too, ‘cept Skye didn't put ice in my heart ‘cause that's not her power.”

“Ah,” Hunter said, looking thoroughly off-put. “ _ Frozen _ . Right.”

“Skye just has to learn to control her power,” Isabelle said confidently. 

“All the same, be careful around her, okay?” Bobbi asked. “I don't want you getting hurt...while Skye deals with this. Even by accident.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Isabelle nodded. 

“What about Trip’s funeral?” Hunter asked. “How're you feeling about that, love?”

She looked down, the small smile falling off her face. “‘M okay.”

“Do you have any more questions?” Bobbi pressed gently. “Or want to talk about anything?”

“What does ‘reunited’ mean?” Isabelle asked. 

“It means to meet again, or be brought together again,” she replied after a moment. “Why?”

“Phil said it during the funeral,” Isabelle said. She looked up at them suddenly. “Does that mean he's not gone forever?”

Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other. She wasn't one for the afterlife or the omnipotent divine—she'd seen too many bad things happen to good people in the course of her work for that. But maybe a different way of explaining it…

“You remember  _ The Lion King _ , right?” Bobbi asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, remember how the monkey told Simba that Mufasa lived on in him?” 

“Rafiki,” Isabelle corrected. “He was a baboon.” 

“Yes,” she nodded with a slight smile. “And whenever you think about him, or remember him, or miss him, he’ll live on in you.”

Isabelle’s eyes grew large. “Really?”

Bobbi patted the bedcovers. “Really.”

“Then I’ll remember him a lot,” Isabelle promised. “Every day.”

“He would like that,” Bobbi smiled, beginning to stroke her hair back. Her daughter’s breathing had leveled out, become deeper. “And remember he died a hero, okay?”

“But heroes get to live happily ever after,” Isabelle said, confused. 

“Not all stories end like that,” Bobbi told her regretfully. 

“But he stayed the dragon, right, Mommy?” 

“He slayed a big arse dragon,” Hunter promised. 

Isabelle blinked sleepily. "What's 'arse'?"

"That's an explanation for another time," Bobbi said quickly, shooting a glance at Hunter. “Time to sleep now, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Isabelle mumbled. “Love you, Mommy. Love you, Daddy.”

“We love you too, Isabelle,” Bobbi murmured as Hunter pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought :)


	38. Tremors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye tries to repair things with Isabelle and the team.

“I’m trying to control it,” Skye murmured. “I’m trying.” The young hacker turned fitfully over onto her back, sleeping form uncurling ever so slightly from the ball it had been tightly tucked into for most of Bobbi’s shift. Her eyes wandered frantically beneath her eyelids. 

Bobbi altered position to make sure her leg didn't feel asleep, checking her watch. 3:53 A.M. 

“I’m going in there,” Bobbi muttered to Simmons, who was seated beside her. 

“Are you sure?” the scientist asked. “From these readings, her powers can still manifest while she’s asleep.” The tone of Simmons’s voice might have been uncertain, but by the light of the tablet she was holding the relief that flushed across her face at Bobbi’s words was all too evident. 

“Only makes it more likely to happen if she’s distressed,” she replied. “Better to wake her up, I think.”

“I agree,” Simmons said, pushing herself up off the ground. 

Bobbi shook her head at her, picking up the woman’s ICER from the ground and pressing it into her hands. “No, I go in; you take this and stay in the doorway.”

“But—”

“That way we both have the tools we need to take her out if needed,” Bobbi told her firmly. With a sigh, Simmons nodded, getting into position. Consulting the security feed on the tablet one more time to make sure nothing had changed, Bobbi turned the wheel to unlock the door and pushed it open slowly, as quietly as she could. Stepping inside, she propped it open wide enough so that Simmons could see them before approaching Skye on the bed.

“Skye,” she whispered the agent’s name as she put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Skye.”

The hacker awoke with a start, a fist flying upwards that Bobbi easily blocked. She gave her a moment, waiting for the younger woman’s eyes to clear. “I’m sorry,” Skye mumbled miserably once they had. Her arms—her entire body—went limp. A tremor ran through the floor.

“We need you to calm down,” Bobbi told her, not raising her voice. Startling her was the last thing she wanted.

Skye affixed her with a flat stare before dropping it again hopelessly. “It’s not that easy, you know.” The tremors nevertheless subsided. 

“Were you having a nightmare?”

“No more than the usual.” Skye lay back down, twisting away from Bobbi. “I’m fine now, you can go back to watch-dog duty.”

“You know we don’t think of it like that,” she said, moving back towards the door. “It’s only temporary. Until we figure this all out.” Skye made no response, and Bobbi pulled the door closed again until the lock clicked into place, turning around to find herself face-to-face with May. Well, face to top-of-her-head. Agent May was quite short, and Bobbi quite tall. 

“That was brave,” May said in a low voice. Coming out of the Asian specialist’s mouth, it didn’t sound like a compliment. 

“What are you doing here?” Bobbi asked, deflecting the—pointless—conversation rather than going into it. 

“I just finished moving Trip’s coffin to our offsite location for burial,” May replied. “His flag is folded and on the mantle. Coulson will deliver his personal effects to his mother in the morning. And I confirmed the ceiling in the lounge suffered no loss in stability. The cracks Skye made were on the surface more than anything else.” 

“You should get more sleep,” Simmons said, at the same time as Bobbi asked, “Are you sure you’re qualified to determine if the ceiling’s about to fall down on us?”

May ignored both of them. “As to what I’m doing  _ here _ , I’m the next shift.”

“I thought Fitz was on the next shift?” Simmons questioned. 

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “And Hunter, too. Wasn’t that the whole idea, one person with combat training paired with one person without it?” 

“Fitz and I have switched,” the specialist replied. “He’ll be later, with Mack.”

Bobbi frowned. “So you wanted to be with Hunter? I always got the impression you minimized time with him...as much as possible. Or is it because you don’t trust him?”

May looked at her, face expressionless. “I did not trust Lance Hunter in the beginning because it was unclear to me where his loyalties lay. If he did indeed want to be an agent as he claimed, I suspected it was for the wrong reason.”

“You mean me.”

“Since Isabelle came into the picture, my trust in him has increased. Now, for the same rationale, it has decreased again.”

“You don’t trust him around Skye because she pushed her down,” Bobbi said. She cocked her head. “But you trusted me?”

“You always have been more level-headed than Hunter.”

Bobbi resisted the urge to smile. “Well, I can assure you Hunter bears Skye no ill-will. We’re all in this together. Besides, Isabelle would never forgive him if he went all Hans on Skye.”

Now it was May’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Hans?”

“Hunter, Isabelle, and I have been speaking in a lot of  _ Frozen  _ metaphors lately,” Bobbi replied apologetically. She turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. “Oh look, there he is now.” 

“Hey, Bob,” he greeted her, stifling a yawn. “Simmons.”

“Good news, Hunter—May’s taken Fitz’s rotation, so you’ll be on with her tonight.” She watched the sleepiness fade from his face to be replaced by alarm. 

“Oh—right. Peachy,” Hunter said in a strangled voice, sounding as though it was anything but. “Well, uh...here’s your phone back, Bob.” He handed it to her. It was the old one that only rang when Isabelle’s door opened at night. 

“Thanks.” She slipped it into her pocket before tossing him a sly smile. “Have fun.”

* * *

“God, I am so tired,” Hunter said, stifling a massive yawn. “And my arm hurts like hell.”

“That's to be expected—but why does your arm hurt?” Bobbi questioned, looking over at him in confusion. 

“Because whenever I'd start to drift off—I mean, start to rest my eyes while totally and completely awake—May hit me in the shoulder,” he complained bitterly. “The mad woman has fists of iron, I tell you.”

“Mommy,” Isabelle ran up to her. “Are you done with breakfast yet?” 

“Not quite yet.” She glanced between her and Hunter. “What’re you trying to rush off to?”

“We're gonna go visit Skye!” Isabelle grinned. 

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“She insisted.” Hunter sighed, draining his cup of coffee in one large gulp. 

“Yes, but we don't usually let four-year-olds get whatever potentially dangerous thing they insist on,” she hissed. 

Hunter blinked. “Not Isabelle, Skye. Although Isabelle’s pretty excited about it too.”

“Oh,” Bobbi’s mouth snapped shut. 

“And Simmons has been up since your shift with her entire team working on some sort of inhibitor gloves,” he added. “They were trying them out when I left. Should've had at least an hour by now to work out any kinks.”

“You still should have told me,” she replied in a cross voice. “May was with you; she didn't have a problem with this?”

“Nope.” 

“Fine,” Bobbi gave her permission, scooping up the last of her oatmeal. “But Isabelle, there’re going to have to be some ground rules. No touching Skye without asking first, okay? And we stay with you the whole time. If we tell you to do something, you do it, right away. No questions asked.”

Isabelle smiled. “But I get to see Skye, right?” 

The corners of her mouth twitched upward without permission. “Yes, you get to see Skye.”

“Are you done yet?” 

Bobbi let her unfinished spoon of oatmeal fall back into the otherwise empty bowl. “Yeah, I'm done. Just let me wash up.” Standing, she spied Isabelle’s sticky hands. “And you too, your hands are covered in watermelon juice.”

Isabelle immediately hid her hands behind her back. “No, they're not.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Come with me, bear.” Bobbi washed her own hands before lifting Isabelle up by the waist so she could reach the sink as well. “Don't forget the soap.”

“Soap is the best part ‘cause it makes bubbles,” the girl replied. 

“I'm glad you think so.” When she was done, Bobbi gently set her down on the floor. She grabbed her hand before she could dart off. “All right, let's go.”

With no small amount of bouncing and tugging on Isabelle’s part, they made it to the garage and onto the Bus in record time. Not surprisingly, most of their team was clustered somewhere the entrance to the cell. Coulson nodded at them as they approached, and Mack shot her a friendly glance. “She's inside,” the director told them as they passed. Fitz was leaning against the wall of the hallway looking at what appeared to be seismic readings and fault lines and didn't even look up as they went by. May stood by the door wearing her usual stoic face. 

“How is she?” Bobbi asked. 

“Waiting for you,” May answered, gesturing them inside. 

Simmons was seated next to Skye on the edge of her bed, and upon their entrance—Isabelle’s entrance, really—they both stood up. “Let me know if you feel any other symptoms and I can try and alleviate them in the next model,” the young scientist instructed. She squeezed Skye’s hand before ducking out of the room, leaving a rather awkward silence in her wake. 

“Isabelle, I'm so sorry I pushed you,” Skye said, standing five feet from where a their daughter had stopped and making no move to come any closer. Now that she was upright, Bobbi could see the black fingerless gloves and wrist brace hybrid that she wore on her arms, as well as a standard biofeedback meter on her left upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay, Skye,” Isabelle chirped. “And I know you didn't mean it.”

Skye sounded a little surprised. “You're right; I didn't. I didn't think and I hurt you because of it. I’m sorry—”

“You were scared,” Isabelle continued. “But you don't have to be.”

The hacker’s mouth turned upwards a little as she lifted her arms. “I hope so...because of these.” At Isabelle’s slightly confused expression, she explained, “They're inhibitors Jemma and Leo designed. They're supposed to help me stay in control of whatever this is, so that...so that these powers don't manifest accidentally.”

“But you don't need those,” Isabelle said. 

“I think, after yesterday, I do,” the agent replied gently. 

“You just have to not be afraid,” the girl said solemnly. “Gloves are what you wear when you  _ are _ afraid.”

For a moment, Skye’s eyebrows knit together. “Why do I get the feeling you're comparing me to Elsa?”

Isabelle walked up to her until she was so close their toes could have been touching. She looked up to Skye. “Please don't wear the in-bit-tor gloves.”

“I can't.”

The girl looked down at her shoes for a second, then returned her gaze to Skye’s face. “Then can I hug you? ‘Cause it makes me feel less scared when I get hugs but Mommy says I have to ask first.”

“Of course you can give me a hug,” Skye said, leaning down to scoop Isabelle up in her arms. Her legs dangled, then straightened as Skye set her down on the bed so that their heights were a bit more similar as they held each other in a tight embrace. “Thank you for asking,” the hacker whispered into her ear. 

Coulson knocked to gather their attention, knuckles making a hard rapping sound against the metal of the door. “You're free to move around the base, Skye, as long as you have someone with you.”

She released Isabelle hesitantly, meeting his eyes with seriousness filling hers. “Make sure they're armed with an ICER. I don't want to hurt any of you.”

“I don't think you will, but they will be armed,” Coulson agreed. 

May appeared next to him. “I would like to teach you some methods I have used in the past for controlling myself and my emotions,” she told Skye. “But only if you are willing to learn.”

“You're the most controlled person ever, so it's worth a shot,” the hacker said, then met May’s eyes. “I mean, yes, please, thank you.”

May gestured outwards with a small tilt of her head. “Tai Chi requires discipline, and for a beginner no distractions.” The last part was directed mostly at Coulson, who nodded. 

“I'll make sure you're not disturbed,” he promised. 

Skye looked down at Isabelle. “I’m gonna try really hard, okay?” She pressed a kiss into her hair, whispering, “I’m going to make things right again,” before allowing herself to be led away by May. 


	39. Stronger Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi and Hunter resolidify their relationship, Skye gets a handle on her powers, and Isabelle learns some new things about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the final chapter before the epilogue :) Enjoy!

Something warm and light stroked across the soft skin of the back of her hand, then moved along, tracing delicate patterns up her arm and over her shoulder. She exhaled, her lips curving upwards as her body curled into the touch. Her eyes blinked open slowly as it started downward towards her chest. 

The touch stilled. "Mornin', beautiful," said a voice to her left. The hand cupped her cheek, drawing her close for a kiss. 

Hunter had his shirt off, she noticed as they broke apart. Which wasn't unusual sleeping attire for him, certainly, but she had a sneaking suspicion... Yep, a quick check under the covers confirmed it. She was completely naked as well. 

Good to know. 

"You seem relaxed," Hunter said, pressing yet another kiss to her temple. 

"I am relaxed," she murmured, memories of the previous night slowly trickling back to her.

He smiled. "It's good to see. When was the last time  _ I _ woke up before  _ you _ …?"

"Never, that's when," she told him. "Still..." Bobbi placed a hand against his bare chest, feeling the  _ thud, thud _ of his heartbeat quicken at her touch. 

Hunter grinned, looking pleased with himself. "It's been a while since we've done this."

She raised an eyebrow, feigning affront. "Is that your way of telling me I'm out of practice?"

"You kidding? You're amazing, Bob," he praised, throwing his head back against the pillow. 

"Your way of apologizing for you being out of practice?" All the breath flew out of her as he flipped on top of her, his entire weight warm and crushing at the same time. 

"Never!" His mouth captured hers harshly, nipping at her bottom lip. When Bobbi finally pushed him off of her and back onto his side of the bed, she was pink-cheeked from lack of oxygen—a result of both him and her pent-up laughter. "Retract your statement," he demanded. 

She rolled her eyes. "Retracted."

He was still suspicious. "I'm better than Barton?"

"Clint and I never had sex!" she yelped. 

"Better than you imagine Barton to be?"

"You're ridiculous."

"Say it anyways."

"What, that I like you more than my Clint Barton fantasies?"

He loomed closer, on the verge of pinning her underneath him again. "Exactly."

Bobbi rose up to give him a chaste peck on the lips. "You're better than any fantasy, Lance." She smiled. "About any man."

"Or woman."

"Or woman," she agreed with a laugh. "Although I think that's more of your thing than mine, Hunter."

"I don't know, I've always thought there was something fishy going on between you and Romanoff," he shook his head. "No way you two are that close when she's that cold..."

She hit him in the arm so his brown eyes would stop laughing at him teasing her. "Shut up. You know what Romanoff would do if she heard you say that?" Bobbi asked. 

"Murder me. Make me nothing more than smear of blood against our lovely base's gray walls," Hunter replied, completely serious. 

Bobbi nodded in agreement, then smirked as a new thought occurred to her. "Or just start kissing me—you know how she likes to play unpredictable."

"You're mine," he growled, flipping himself on top of her again. 

Her phone chimed, and they tumbled apart in a heap of bedsheets. Bobbi barely had time to pull them comfortably over her chest before the door opened and Isabelle poked her head in. "Mommy? Are you awake yet?" She spotted them in the bed. "Daddy, what are you doing in here?"

"Nothing," Hunter replied in a higher octave than normal, at the same time as Bobbi said, "Sleeping."

"He was extra tired last night, so he slept here," Bobbi said, tugging the blankets upward even more. 

Isabelle tilted her head to the side. "Why was he extra tired?"

"We were up late talking, love," Hunter told her. 

"'Bout what?" 

"How about you go get dressed and then we can have breakfast?" Bobbi suggested. "Phil said he was making waffles, remember?"

"And Daddy said I could put whipped cream on mine," Isabelle grinned. "As much as I want." 

Had Bobbi been able to hit her ex-husband in the face with a pillow without the covers slipping, she would have done it. As it was, she could only say, "Better go get dressed then, or by the time we get there it might be all gone. Skye is as obsessed with whipped cream as Daddy." 

Isabelle's eyes grew huge and she scampered off. Bobbi's phone chimed again to let her know the girl's room door had been opened. 

"You're dealing with her hyperactivity later," Bobbi grumbled, falling back into the pillow with a sigh. 

"I was just gonna hand her off to May for Tai Chi time," Hunter shrugged, laying back down beside her. 

Despite herself, Bobbi smiled, turning her head to look at him. "You're evil, you know that?"

"I learned from the best."

"So did I," Bobbi replied, thinking of Natasha.

He was silent for a few seconds. "So why are you in such a good mood?"

She thought about it. "I don't know. Just feels like a good day, I guess. And we haven't had one of those in a while. But now that Skye's doing Tai Chi with May the base hardly ever gets tremors anymore, and Isabelle hasn't cried during the night in a week, even when we talk about Trip, and..." She smiled. "It just feels right, you know?"

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "I know." His eyes had a mischievous glint in them as he pulled away. "So, round two?"

"Three, and no, Isabelle could walk in at any minute wondering what's taking us so long," Bobbi shook her head. "Do you want to scar her for life?"

"I would lock the door first," he pouted. 

"Hunter, you can't lock the door against our four-year-old daughter who currently has no supervision." She rolled her eyes. 

"She's almost five."

Bobbi laughed. "So she keeps reminding us." She sighed, then poked him in the shoulder. "Up you get." He groaned, but pulled himself out of the bed all the same and pulled on last night's clothes. She went for new ones in her dresser, pulling them on and barely having time to run her fingers through her bed-mussed hair before Isabelle was through the door and bouncing at her side. "Hold on a minute," Bobbi told her, set on finding her hairbrush as Hunter disappeared into the bathroom. 

"But then Skye will eat all the whipped cream before I get there..." Isabelle pouted, unable to stand still. 

"And what a travesty that would be."

There was a knock at the door, and Bobbi opened it. "Hey, Barbara, I'll take her," Mack offered, standing on the other side of it. "Could feel her excitement from a mile off." His eyes slid sideways to where Hunter was re-emerging from the bathroom. "Oh, and Hunter..." he greeted him, looking him up and down. "...in yesterday's clothes..." He raised an eyebrow at Bobbi. 

She gave him a none-of-your-business look at the same time as Hunter delivered his patented got-laid-last-night look, smug and proud as a peacock. 

"Uh huh," said Mack. She couldn't tell if he was amused or exasperated. Quite possibly both. "C'mon, Isabelle, breakfast is waiting." He bent to take her hand. 

"Mommy doesn't keep Daddy's clothes in her room because Daddy's clothes belong in Daddy's room," Isabelle informed him matter-of-factly as they walked away. 

Bobbi let the door close before looking sideways at Hunter. "Told you. That was too close for comfort. And now Mack's going to go all big-brother on me as soon as he gets the chance."

"He  _ is  _ a big brother," Hunter nodded, messing with his belt buckle. 

"But he's not  _ my  _ big brother."

"Tell him that."

"I plan to. It won't be the first time," Bobbi said. She looked at herself in the mirror. "I'm ready to go, you?" 

"Go ahead; I'll catch up. Left my wallet on the floor somewhere," Hunter told her, getting on his hands and knees. 

"See you in a minute." Bobbi opened the door and stepped out into the hallway beyond. 

"Hey, Bob," he said suddenly. 

"What?" She turned back. 

"You never actually said I was better than Clint." 

Bobbi rolled her eyes and kept walking. 

He sprang to his feet and chased after her. "Bob! You never said I was better than Clint!"

* * *

“God, I am so bored,” Skye complained, sprawled upside down on the couch. Her feet stuck up in the air while her spine pressed into the bottom cushion. “Coulson and Simmons have still got me on the DL—”

“Down low?” Bobbi asked. 

“ _ Disabled list _ . Wow, that really needs to catch on around here,” Skye muttered before resuming her tirade, “—which I get means no missions and stuff but I haven't been off-base in two weeks.” She sighed. “Two weeks without sunlight.”

“Did Coulson specifically say you couldn't leave the base?” Bobbi asked with a slight frown. “The way he told it to us, it didn't sound like house arrest.”

“No, but May implied it…” Skye told her with a huff. 

“Actually I implied nothing of the sort,” the specialist declared, walking into the lounge. “I think it would be good for you to get a change of scenery and to resume something akin to a normal routine, as long as there's one of us with you.”

“Really?” Skye sat up so fast that she almost spun off the couch. She grinned at Bobbi. “Want to come with? Where should we go?” 

“We’re out of pancake mix, among other things,” May said, walking out of the room. 

Skye made a face once she was gone. “What? No. My first time out since San Juan should be, you know, fun.” She smiled. “Something Isabelle would enjoy.”

“She's four; she’ll enjoy almost anything,” Bobbi laughed. 

“It's a nice day out—supposedly, as I wouldn't know—so we could take her out on the water,” Skye suggested. “I'm not a huge fan of fishing but boating could be fun.”

Bobbi shook her head. “I have no idea if she can swim.”

“Oh, right. Hmm…” Skye bit her lip in thought. 

“Laser tag?” 

The young agent looked at her. “Kind of on-point, given what we do,” she said.

Bobbi looked askance for a second, then nodded. “True.”

“Where is she right now anyway? With Hunter?” Skye asked. 

“No. She's decided when she gets tired of running around that she likes sitting on Coulson’s desk and watching him while he does paperwork,” Bobbi answered. “Also it doesn't hurt that he keeps small candies in his top desk drawer.”

“Isn't he worried about Isabelle seeing any classified information?” 

“He might be...if she could read well enough to understand any of it,” Bobbi smirked. 

“OH,” Skye said suddenly. “When I was a kid in the foster care system, there was this one time I got to go to another kid’s birthday party and we went to this place full of plastic tubes that we could climb around in. I remember having so much fun that day—until that asshole Darren Crosby shoved his little sister down one of the slides head first and told his parents it was me, made them ship me back to the orphanage.” She still sounded bitter, although mixed with excitement. “I've always wanted to go back. We should find one of those places around here.” 

“Isabelle would love that,” Bobbi laughed. “But would the rest of the team?” 

Skye had a mischievous glint in her eye. “We’ll  _ make _ them love it.” 

True to her word, Skye did the research with a few quick key clacks on her laptop and then set off rounding up the entire team. She refused to tell them the destination, using her puppy dog eyes and  _ I’ve-had-a-really-crappy-last-few-weeks _ guilt-tripping to devastating effect. All in all the agents fell into line rather easily except for Coulson, whom no amount of begging or prodding could budge. 

“Fine,” Skye said finally with a small stamp of her foot. “But when we get back tonight we’re coming with pizza and churros and we’re doing a mandatory movie marathon. Disney until Isabelle goes to bed and then Star Wars afterwards.”

“Agreed,” Coulson smiled. “And have a good time, Skye. You deserve it.”

Bobbi watched Skye rally the troops with a small sense of awe for the sway the once anarchical hacker had over them. It wasn't a bad sway—as an agent she’d seen many of those over her lifetime, from drug exposure to Stockholm syndrome to Clint struggling with the after effects of Loki’s hold on him before the Battle of New York. This was a good sway, the kind that came from love and trust and respect and was woven into the fabric of their group dynamic, especially among the original members of Coulson’s team. Those five had gone through so much together; it was as visible in the casual looks they exchanged as it was in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files documenting the entire event. 

About ten minutes later they were in the car and off, May driving with Bobbi co-piloting up front, Isabelle in between Hunter and Mack in the middle, and Fitz sandwiched between Skye and Simmons in the back. As Bobbi was the only one besides Skye who knew where they were headed, she fielded sneaky requests for hints from their passengers—or quite overt ones from Isabelle—while giving May the occasional “Turn left here” or “Get on the freeway.”

But when they arrived, Bobbi began to have her doubts. The building was large, with curvy letters spelling out ‘The Jungle’ on top in a fluorescent green, and all of the windows were taped over with kids’ drawings and cartoon animal stickers. As May set the parking brake, Bobbi wasn’t the only one who was giving Skye a look, though hers was more ‘are you sure’ than the ‘are you crazy’ and ‘ah  _ hell _ no’ looks she was getting from those in the back. Though they had two, it didn’t take a genius to work out that this place was clearly designed for children, not adults. Sure, it would have been wonderful for Isabelle had she had some friends here with her, but...were adults even  _ allowed _ in the tubes?

“Are you trying to tell us we’re too childish?” Hunter piped up first. 

“This is like ‘Kid’s World’,” Fitz pointed out with a strange note of happiness in his voice. He shared an awed, excited look with Simmons. “I loved that place!”

“I had my sixth and eighth birthday there,” Simmons said. 

Hunter was also appearing somewhat swayed, leading Bobbi to believe that clamoring through plastic tubes must have been some sort of British childhood ritual. She had been to one of these before as a child, she was sure, but it hadn't been entertaining enough to be counted among her few long-lasting good memories from elementary school. 

Skye frowned exasperatedly. “No, no, it’s not for kids—it’s for everybody.”

“You want me to climb in there?” Mack asked, skepticism dripping from every word. “It’s like a pint sized version of the obstacle course at the Academy of Operations.”

“Though I doubt it’s hosed down as quite often, or disinfected so completely,” Simmons pointed out, turning her nose up ever so slightly at the thought of germs. 

“What? Simmons, weren't you just saying how you had  _ two  _ birthday parties at a place like this?” Skye whined. 

“Yes, but that was before I knew the dangers of Staph aureus, Pseudomonas, E. coli, Bacillus cereus, and Coliforms,” Simmons replied matter-of-factly. 

Skye looked around at them all, gaze tinged with equal parts begging and disbelief. “Come on, guys. When did we lose our spirit? Our spontaneity? When was the last time you gave into your...your childhood self and just did something for the fun of it? Just because you wanted to?” Not waiting for an answer, Skye turned directly to her and asked, “Isabelle, do  _ you _ want to go and play?”

Isabelle threw her hands up in the air with excitement before trying to unstrap herself and failing to get the latch out in her haste. “Yeah! Let's go!”

Hunter shrugged, a small grin taking over his face as he helped her unbuckle. “As always, I'm with her,” he said as he lifted Isabelle out of her car seat. “And her.” He glanced at Bobbi. “You're coming too, right, Bob?”

“Wouldn't miss it,” she assured him. 

Once they were all out of the car, the eight of them trooped toward the building together. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter didn't even bat an eye at the large party escorting the single four-year-old—perhaps because it was the middle of a weekday during the school year, or maybe he was too underpaid to care—and just told them the price and handed out green wristbands also decorated with animals. May pursed her lips, but even she pulled the sticky end off to attach it around her wrist as soon as the teen returned her credit card. 

Isabelle practically dragged Hunter further inside, then dropped his hand and went back for Skye to drag her in as well. Then the three of them disappeared one after another into a bright yellow tube. 

“Hey, wait for us!” Fitz called. They looked up to see Skye sticking her tongue out at them from one of the windows, somehow already having made it into a red one that must join the yellow somewhere in the twist of tubes. He and Simmons dashed for the green, clamoring up inside it. 

Shaking her head, May left them to find a table. Bobbi and Mack approached the entrance to a blue tube. He peered into it. “You're not seriously gonna make me do this.” She nodded. “What if I get stuck?”

“Wiggle,” Bobbi suggested with a grin before swinging her leg up to climb inside the tube as well. 

* * *

Bobbi sat down with a tired but contented sigh across from May, having spent the past two hours on her hands and knees crawling around in tubes that smelled vaguely of sweat and old pizza after her daughter. Mack had bailed after only half an hour upon seeing the arcade below—“Now we’re talkin', Barbara”—but at this point she couldn't say she blamed him. Her shoulders, while providing the power behind her swings when fighting enemies, already proved to be somewhat cumbersome in the tubes, and she had nowhere near the physique he did. It had been fun though. Bobbi gave Skye that much. And judging by the frequent shrieks of laughter, Isabelle was loving it too. 

“You could join them, you know,” she said to May. She gestured towards the tablet on the table in front of her. “I'll take that from you for a bit, if you want to.”

May gave her a withering glance. “Don't be ridiculous.” 

Bobbi smiled; perhaps she  _ was _ being unrealistic. This was the Cavalry, after all. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as Bobbi casually checked her email on her phone and May alternated her gaze between the tablet readings of vitals from Skye’s wristwatch and up at the tangle of tubes and rope ladders, where occasionally one of the team could be spotted climbing by on all fours. 

“Your kids lost somewhere in there too?” a voice from behind May asked. The specialist turned to the stereotypical-soccer-mom-looking woman who appeared to be speaking to her. “Mine are. Personally I don't see the appeal of climbing around like rats, but whatever keeps them occupied for an hour, you know? Kids will be kids.” 

Fitz and Simmons clamored through the tubes above them, recognizable through the opaque plastic by  _ “Ow, Fitz, you ran into me!”  _ and the corresponding  _ “We’re never going to catch Hunter and Isabelle at this rate. You know...if we had a monkey, we could send it scouting out ahead of us…” _

“Yes, they will,” May replied with a slight smirk as she turned back to Bobbi. 

* * *

“Did you have fun today?” Bobbi asked. 

“Yes!” Isabelle grinned as she tucked her into bed. "How much do you love me?" 

"What?" Bobbi asked, surprised. "That's a silly question. I love you a lot—more than I can tell you."

"But how much is a lot?"

Bobbi thought a minute. "Imagine the biggest thing you can."

"The refrigerator!"

"The refrigerator's pretty big, but think bigger," she prompted. 

"Mack?"

Hunter chortled and Bobbi smiled, but still said, "Bigger."

"An elephant," Isabelle said in a triumphant voice. "They're huge, and they have a long trunk.”

"Well, my love for you is bigger than an elephant," Bobbi told her. "Bigger than the ocean. Bigger than you can even imagine. I've loved you from the second you were born, and I'll continue loving you forever and ever and ever." She gave her a swift kiss on the forehead. "Okay?"

"But you didn't know me when I was born," Isabelle said, brow furrowed. "You weren't my mommy then."

Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other. "Well, actually..." Bobbi began. 

Hunter cut across her. "Let's try to put this into terms you'll understand," he said, coming closer to the pair of them. "How about a story?"

"A story?" Isabelle asked. 

"Yeah. Once upon a time..." He looked to Bobbi quickly for help, but she simply nodded, encouraging him onward. "Once upon a time, there was a knight who was strong, brave, and quite handsome—" She rolled her eyes. "—who was married to a noble lady who was also a powerful warrior. Together the two of them protected many towns from wild beasts and witches and other evil things that wanted to harm the people of the kingdom. Then one day, the lady had a beautiful baby girl whom they loved very much." He poked Isabelle in the stomach, making her smile. "That's you."

"And Mommy's a warrior lady and you're a knight?"

He grinned. "Precisely." 

"But then what about my other Mommy and Daddy?" 

Hunter put a finger to his lips to forestall her, his tone shifting to his storytelling voice again, "But then an evil dragon started terrorizing the kingdom and hurting its people. The knight and the lady knew they had to try and stop its rampage but they knew they couldn't take their baby with them because it would be too dangerous for her around a dragon. It was the hardest thing they ever had to do, but the lady entrusted her baby to another kind couple who agreed to take her in and treat her as their own." The description of this action as the woman's in Hunter's story did not escape Bobbi, but she was grateful he had made them sound like a team from the beginning, with no hint of the betrayal he had felt when she kept Isabelle a secret from him. Isabelle was now listening to him enraptured. "So the knight and the lady went off to stay the evil dragon and though they had to fight long and hard, they managed to slay it and save the kingdom. When they returned home, however, four years had passed and the couple they had given their beloved child to had grown sick and through no fault of their own could no longer care for her. The knight and the lady were very thankful to them for all they had done, and they gladly took her back—and they loved her for ever and ever and ever."

They were all quiet for a minute, Bobbi gazing with baited breath at her little daughter's face. "I gave birth to you, Isabelle," she said. She didn't know if the girl would know what that meant, but she felt she had to say it anyways. "I held you as a baby, as my baby, when you were no larger than—" Her gaze fell to the stuffed rabbit lying beside her. "—no larger than Hoppity. And I had to give you up, and I'm so sorry for that, but I am so glad to have you back and for us to be able to be a family. Do you...do you understand?"

Isabelle nodded. "You were my first Mommy and Daddy. And now you are again. Right?"

"Yes," Bobbi smiled. "And we love you, so much. We always have."

"Did my second Mommy and Daddy love me too?" Isabelle asked. 

"Of course they did," Hunter replied immediately. 

"Do you have any other questions?" Bobbi pressed. 

"What if there are more dragons?" Isabelle asked. "Are you gonna give me up again?"

"Never," Hunter said in a choked voice almost before she'd finished speaking. 

"That's never going to happen again," Bobbi promised. "It was such a hard decision the first time that I never want to repeat it. And if there are dragons...we have Phil now, and May, and Jemma and Leo and Skye and Mack. Even if Hunter and I have to go away for a few hours or a few days every once in a while, you'll never be alone. You'll never be alone, and we'll always come back." She paused. "You remember Janet?"

Their daughter nodded. 

"Well, her job is to be your social worker. She basically checks in on you every once in a while to make sure that you're safe and you're happy, and eventually, she'll trust us enough that she can stop doing that. In the eyes of the law, when that happens, you stay with us forever and ever." Bobbi kissed her forehead, then glanced at Lance. "But we don't need that to happen yet to know that we're a family. We have each other, and we love each other, and that's all that matters."

Isabelle smiled, snuggling into her pillow. "I love you, Mommy. I love you, Daddy." Her eyes slipped closed. 

"We love you too, Isabelle," Hunter whispered, his arm slipping around Bobbi's waist as he side-hugged her to him. 

After a few moments Bobbi stood up to flick the lights off, then rejoined Hunter, who hadn't moved from her bedside. His arm circled around her again as she leaned into him, close enough to feel the mingling of their heartbeats thud-thudding in their chests. Except unlike hers, which was surging fast and quick from nervousness and excitement, his was calm and steady and soothing to feel pulsing underneath his skin. “I love you, you know,” she said quietly. 

“I love you too, Bob,” he said, clasping her hands in his as she turned to face him. “Just...never do anything like this to me again.”

She shook her head. “We’re stronger together. I know that now.”

The glow of the clock reflected off his teeth as he smiled, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. “Stronger together.” 


	40. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle grows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end! I hope you all enjoyed this fic so far and I'm happy to bring it to a close with this :)
> 
> Also, spoiler alert for _Game of Thrones_, I guess?

_FILE STATUS:_ REDACTED  
_SUBJECT:_ ISABELLE MARIE MORSE-HUNTER  
_FILE REQUESTED ON DATE_ 11/08/2032 _BY_ SUBJECT  
_HIGHLY CLASSIFIED - FOR _SUBJECT_’S_ _VIEWING ONLY_

**AGE 5**

"Mommy, wake up!" Something heavy bounced across her bed, sending it vibrating, and soon Isabelle's slightly flushed face appeared next to hers. 

"It's not time yet," Bobbi murmured, eyes still closed in the futile hope of returning to sleep in peace. 

"It is too!" Isabelle insisted, causing the bed to rock again with her enthusiasm. "May's up."

"Yeah, because she's a crazy person," Bobbi groaned into her pillow. Her eyes snapped open. "Do not tell her I said that."

"I won't if you get up," Isabelle replied cheekily. 

Bobbi knew she was done for. "Fine." 

"Do you know what day it is?" Isabelle asked as she released her hold on Bobbi's bed and began to dance around the room. 

"Someone's birthday...hmm...let me think who it could be," Bobbi replied as she dragged herself upwards and towards her dresser to change her clothes. 

"It's mine!" Isabelle tackled her legs, overcome with laughter. "Daddy said so yesterday. Don't be silly, Mommy."

She rolled her eyes, kissing the top of her daughter's head. "Right, I forgot, only one of us is allowed to be silly in this family.”

Isabelle looked up at her indignantly. "I'm five now; I'm not silly!"

"I meant your father."

She grinned. "Yeah, Daddy is pretty silly."

Bobbi finished getting dressed and then took her hand and allowed Isabelle to lead her out the door. Forty minutes later, Isabelle had been fed and watered and the rest of the base was stirring, as evidenced by the various team members wandering into the kitchen off the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. By the time the eighth one arrived—presumably with yawns and bed-mussed hair like the rest—Bobbi almost didn't look at their face as she handed them yet another plate of eggs and fruit salad. Almost. 

"Natasha?" she gasped, nearly dropping the frying pan on her own foot. 

"Hey, Bobbi," Natasha answered with a smile.

"We couldn't miss her first birthday with the team," Clint explained from behind her, an identical grin on his face. 

"Tasha! Clint! You came! Did you get my letter?" Isabelle asked, running up to them. "Daddy helped me write the words and Mommy said she mailed it. Did you get it?"

"We sure did, and our reply is on its way," Clint told her, scooping her up for a hug. "But we couldn't miss your birthday, so—"

"—here we are," Natasha finished. 

Setting her down, Clint eyed the frying pan still held loosely in Bobbi's grip. "So can I get some of those eggs too, or...?"

"Oh, right, of course." She found him another plate and doled out a large portion before setting it down on a non-heated part of the stove and giving the plate to Clint. They all joined the rest of the team at the table, squished as it was. 

Once they were all done eating and catching up, the dishes were left in a pile in the sink and—by Isabelle's insistence, of course—it was time for presents. Skye went first: a medium-sized package in wrapping paper decorated with bright balloons. Isabelle tore it open excitedly to find a water color paint set complete with twenty-four colors and three differently-sized brushes. 

May gave her a set of her very own mini set of S.H.I.E.L.D.-branded workout clothes complete with the logo on the shoulders and her name stitched in white on the back, just like she had told Bobbi she wanted a few days ago so she could be just like May and Skye when the three of them did Tai Chi together. Bobbi hadn't said a word to the specialist, so she wondered how she knew. 

Coulson’s gift was some superhero-themed picture books made especially for kids, two focusing on _ Captain America: The Living Legend _ and one on _ The Awesome Adventures of the Amazing Avengers _.

"Hey," said Clint as he flipped through the second one. "I'm not even in this!"

"Yes, you are." Natasha pointed at a simplified drawing of the Avengers smiling and encircling the Earth. "Your elbow is visible right here at the edge of the page, next to me. The rest of you just got cut off."

"Typical," Clint groaned. 

Simmons's present was similar: a little kid's trivia game filled with more factoids than one could memorize in a lifetime. When asked if he wanted to go next, Fitz exchanged a significant glance with Mack and then shook his head. 

Natasha and Clint took up the slack, handing over their joint gift: a silver necklace much like Natasha's but with a dangling arrow pendant and a clear hourglass filled with glitter and red liquid. Isabelle immediately demanded that Bobbi put it on her, so she fastened it around her neck. 

Bobbi and Hunter's presents, while not joint, were also related. Isabelle opened Bobbi's to find a silvery blue Elsa dress in her size and in Hunter's a Frozen CD and an Olaf costume meant for a small dog but that would fit Isabelle's stuffed bunny Hoppity perfectly. As she had done with everyone else, Isabelle threw her arms around them both and held on tight while emitting squeals of joy. 

Finally it was just Fitz and Mack left, but when Bobbi looked up she realized they must have slipped out. A moment later, the two of them appeared—Mack pushing a gigantic gift along the floor and Fitz bobbing happily along in his wake, a look of boyish excitement on his face. Their gift wasn't wrapped so much as had a sheet thrown over it, and the way Mack was moving it must have been on wheels. 

When Isabelle pulled off the sheet, there was a moment of absolute silence before they broke into peals of laughter. It was Lola, the director's beloved 1962 red Corvette in miniature, except with one central child-sized seat instead of two. "It doesn't..." Bobbi said before mouthing, "..._ fly _?"

"Of course it does," Mack answered proudly. "Thanks for finally letting me take a peek under her hood, Director." 

"Oh God," Bobbi murmured, putting her face in her hands as Isabelle clamored into the seat. 

"Press that button there," Fitz said, pointing and grinning. Isabelle punched it and the engine activated with a smooth purr. "Feel around with your foot for the gas pedal," the young engineer directed. Mini Lola began to move forward, and Clint jumped out of the way. 

Mack laughed at him. "Don't be so jumpy, Barton. It only has a max speed of ten miles per hour." 

"It can't be exactly like Lola under the hood though," Coulson said, getting into his geek-out mode. He quite possibly loved this gift as much as Isabelle. "It's much too quiet."

"Engine's all electric, some old arc reactor technology so it'll never need to be charged," Mack revealed. "Isabelle, this button here." He tapped one marked FLIGHT. She pressed it eagerly, and the car's wheels rotated into hover position. Soon she was floating two feet off the ground. 

"So how much weight can that thing take?" Hunter asked casually, staring at Mini Lola—Lolita!—with unabashed longing. 

"Less than yours, Hunter," Mack replied. 

Bobbi just laughed, shaking her head, as Isabelle zoomed towards Natasha in her new toy. "I just hope you two know what you've gotten yourselves into."

* * *

Standing next to the unmarked S.H.I.E.L.D. van in the parking lot of Isabelle's new preschool, they looked down at their daughter. "Are you sure you're not nervous?" Bobbi asked. 

"Nope!" Isabelle answered cheerily. She had a small blue backpack on and was hugging the mandatory pillow all kids were apparently required to bring for naptime, the blanket stuffed in her backpack. She didn't take naps at home, but Bobbi supposed maybe it was just an excuse the preschool teachers used to get an hour or so of peace and quiet in the middle of their raucous day shepherding a bunch of three and four-year-olds. Either way, it wouldn't hurt her to get a little extra sleep.

"You can always ask the teachers to call us if you need us," Hunter reminded her, looking nearly as strained as Bobbi felt. 

Isabelle bounced impatiently beside them. "Can we go in yet? All the other kids are going in!"

"I suppose," Bobbi sighed, taking her daughter by the hand. Hunter fell into step besides them, heading towards the preschool building. They knew from their intensive touring that it was one of the friendliest and most academically stimulating preschools in their area, but all the same it seemed wrong to Bobbi to just...leave her there. For a whole day. All by herself. 

"Who would've thought we'd be the ones with separation anxiety, not her," Hunter whispered as they approached the door. 

A smiling woman greeted them. "Isabelle, Ms. Morse and Mr. Hunter, welcome to Meerwood Preschool. Are you excited for your first day, Isabelle?"

"Yes!" She hopped up and down on her heels. 

Katie—as she told all the kids to call her—smiled even more broadly. "I'm glad to hear it! Head right in; Johanna will show you your cubby where you can put your backpack and pillow."

"Bye Mommy, bye Daddy!" Isabelle gave them each a swift hug. "Say bye to Jemma and Leo for me too."

"Uncle Leo and Aunt Jemma will miss you," Hunter promised, giving her a significant look. They had gone over the new titles for all of Isabelle's adult friends the day before, and now were just hoping they would stick. "But don't let that stop you from having a ton of fun!"

"I don't think it will," Bobbi laughed, watching her run inside. They thanked Katie and walked away, Bobbi placing her head on Hunter's shoulder. "I already feel like an empty nester."

"Wanna make another?"

Her head jerked upward, nearly knocking his chin. "What? No! Hunter!" She hit him in the arm, hard. 

He shrugged sheepishly. "Hey, it was worth a try."

* * *

"Today's the day," Hunter said to her, looking down at her hands so tight on the steering wheel that her knuckles were white, "but that doesn't mean you have to kill us on the way there."

"We're going exactly the speed limit," Bobbi said through gritted teeth, but did release her stranglehold on the steering wheel slightly. 

"You nervous?"

"Nothing to be nervous about. We know what the judge is going to say." 

"That's right. 'Cause we're amazing parents, Bob." 

She glanced in the rearview mirror at Isabelle, who was seated in the back between Skye and Fitz and and singing along loudly to the _ Frozen _ soundtrack, which was blasting throughout the car and effectively silencing Bobbi and Hunter's voices to anyone not sitting in the front seats. 

"Because 'amazing parents' are totally ones who on the way to their kid's adoption still hasn't decided on a last name yet," she teased, taking on a lighter tone. 

"We have: Morse-Hunter." 

"Hunter-Morse."

"Morse-Hunter!"

"Hunter-Morse."

They both began to laugh. "See?"

"We're hopeless," Hunter agreed, leaning back against the headrest. 

In the end, their worries were for nothing. The judge said yes. Bobbi and Hunter were the first to hug the newly christened Isabelle Morse-Hunter. They all cried, even Isabelle—though their daughter didn't seem to know why she was crying, just that her Mommy and Daddy were, and she felt like it too. To their daughter, they had been a family long before it was ever put down officially on paper.

* * *

**AGE 6**

"So, what are you going to dress up as?" Skye—now Daisy—asked, leaning against the lab counter. Fitz gently moved her away, already clad in goggles and passing more pairs out to the three of them standing there and watching. "This was always my least favorite part of Chem," Daisy muttered as she slipped hers over the bridge of her nose. Bobbi made sure Isabelle's were on properly but needn't have worried—her daughter was holding them tight to her face. 

"We're, ah, dressing up as mad scientists," Fitz informed her, taking the graduated cylinder and pouring its contents slowly into the beaker. 

"So you're just wearing your normal clothing then?" Daisy asked. 

"No, we're—" Fitz dropped off, finally getting it. "Haha, very funny. No, Simmons made me promise I wouldn't tell before Halloween, so..."

"But today _ is _ Halloween," Daisy pointed out. 

"She said until tonight," Fitz shrugged. 

"Isabelle, what's your costume?" Daisy asked as they all shielded their eyes from the light emitted by the mixture of fluids in the beaker. 

"I haven't decided yet," the little girl told her. "I can be Elsa again but I was Elsa last year, remember?"

"Hmm," Daisy said. "What about Hermione?"

"What’s Hermione?"

Daisy’s eyes widened. "I just figured out your bedtime stories...for the next thousand or so nights."

"Sorry, Daisy, Hunter's got dibs on that one," Bobbi cut in with a smile. "Says it's all part of introducing her to his culture. We're waiting until she turns seven."

"Because it's too advanced? I guess that's fair," Daisy said, looking mildly disappointed. 

"Nah, because seven Horcruxes and Hunter's a nerd," Bobbi grinned. 

Isabelle tugged on both of their shirts. "What are you talking about?" she whined. 

"Nothing. I can't wait until you turn seven," Daisy told her, shaking her head. 

"Here, Isabelle, come watch this," Fitz said, immediately distracting her. 

"Our extraterrestrial visitor gone yet?" Bobbi asked Daisy in a low voice.

"Nope. She's still in Coulson's office," the hacker replied back. "She's been asking to see Isabelle though."

"What?" Bobbi looked at her askance. "I've been trying to keep her _ out _ from underfoot this time."

"I don't think Lady Sif really minded last time," Daisy smiled. "She did let Isabelle hold her sword and called her 'youngling' a lot...which I suppose could be a term of endearment for an Asgardian."

"All I remember is Isabelle nearly giving me a heart attack with that sword," Bobbi grumbled. 

"_Nonsense, Lady Barbara. Younglings of Asgard begin to learn the art of the sword at an age much the same as Isabelle._”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows at Daisy’s mimicry of Sif's usual brusque way of speaking. "Did she say why she wished to meet with Isabelle again?"

Daisy shrugged, a small smile playing about her mouth. "Something about a gift."

"Please don't let it be a sword," Bobbi muttered. 

"Hey, they should be out of the meeting by now,” Daisy grinned. "Let's go find out."

Calling her daughter to her, Bobbi removed both their safety goggles. “Do you remember Lady Sif?” she asked. “She’s back and wants to see you.”

Isabelle’s eyes lit up. “Really? I remember! She was big like you but she has a shield that’s my size,” the girl said proudly. 

Despite herself, Bobbi smiled. “Come on.” The three of them headed to Coulson’s office, leaving the mad scientists to their experiment. As they approached, the door opened, and the director and the Asgardian stepped through. 

“Lady Sif!” Isabelle ran forward excitedly, the honorific falling easily from her lips as if it were simply part of her name. 

“Lady Isabelle,” Sif greeted her, inclining her head in a short bow. “You are well?” The girl grinned up at her and the warrior seemed to take that as an answer in and of itself. “I have something for you.” Sif indicated the leather-wrapped bundle in her arms, then held it out to her.

“For me?” Isabelle asked, glancing back at her mother, who could do nothing but nod encouragingly. 

“What do we say when someone gives us a gift, Isabelle?” Bobbi prompted.

“Thank you, Lady Sif,” Isabelle said, attempting to hug the bundle to her chest but nearly toppling over with the unexpected weight of the package. 

“You may open it,” Sif said. Isabelle gently set the bundle on the floor and searched through it for the opening flap with her small hands. She found it after a few seconds, drawing the pouch open and peering inside with an open mouth. 

Bobbi stepped forward to get a better look, catching a silvery flash of fine-wrought metal as Isabelle pulled it out of the bag. It was a child-size set of Asgardian armor. 

“There is something else,” Sif told her. Isabelle pulled out a shield of roughly the same dimensions as Sif’s. Even Coulson appeared surprised. 

Bobbi found her voice first. “Sif, you didn’t have to…”

“It was my pleasure, Lady Barbara,” the woman inclined her head again. “Now Lady Isabelle shall be outfitted as any other high-born Asgardian youngling of her age.” 

“Thank you,” the director said. 

“It was good to see all of you again, especially you, Phillip, Son of Coul. It is my hope that you shall be able to end this farce with Thor soon, so that both he and I may visit more often.” 

“It is my hope as well,” Coulson told her. 

She bowed low to them all, facing Isabelle directly. “I must now return to Asgard. I do not know when we shall meet again, but best of luck, Lady Isabelle of S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“I’ll escort you up to the surface,” Coulson nodded. “Opening the bifrost underground is not exactly the end I had in mind for my base.” The two of them set off down the hallway. 

Isabelle tugged on her shirt, and Bobbi looked down. Her daughter was grinning from ear to ear. “Mommy, guess what I wanna be for Halloween?”

“Good choice, seeing as she already has the costume for it,” Daisy laughed. She met Isabelle’s eyes with equally excited ones of her own. “Let’s go try it on!”

* * *

**AGE 8**

"Why don't you and Dad get married?" Isabelle asked as Bobbi turned the car off and set the parking brake. "Don't you love each other?"

"Don't forget your backpack," Bobbi reminded her as she exited the driver's seat into the base's garage. Lola, the Bus, and the Quinjet were all parked in their spots, meaning no mission had come up while she'd been picking Isabelle up from school.

"You're changing the subject!" Isabelle said, sliding out of the back seat with backpack swinging from one hand. "Come on, Mom—why don't you and Dad get married? All my friends' parents are married except Lizzie's 'cause they're separated. And Carter's dads only got married last summer...we were at the wedding, remember? It's not too late for you guys."

"You know we've been married before," Bobbi replied as they started for the door. "We've tried that. And Hunter and I have agreed—" She stopped in her tracks, nearly tripping over two remote-controlled cars as they zoomed under her feet. One was black with silver trimmings, the other bright yellow. Mack and Fitz were hot in pursuit, screaming around the corner of the Quinjet with controllers in their hands.

"I'm the Ghost Rider, Turbo," Mack shouted, looking somewhat pleased with himself to have come up with that name as he ran after his car. "You never see me coming...until I want you to." Hitting a button on his remote, flames spurted out of the top ventilators and wheel gaskets of his car, though he was too far away to do more than singe the edges of Fitz's.

The engineer spared him a split-second glance away from their RC cars. "Why would you call yourself that?" he muttered. "Sounds like a bloke who'd ride a motorcycle, not in a 1969 Charger to me."

"I could build a motorcycle," Mack mused. "Keeping with the flames, of course. We're still going for the 'straight outta hell' look."

"No!" Fitz said incredulously, twisting the knob on his controller just right so that his car zipped ahead of Mack's as they tightly whirled around the corner. "We're racing cars, not random vehicles.

"I'm just saying, I think it would look really cool to have a flaming motorcycle too..." The two of them disappeared behind the Bus. A moment later, Simmons ran through carrying a fire extinguisher.

"Uncle Leo and Uncle Mack went that way," Isabelle pointed helpfully. Simmons gave her a swift nod of thanks before sprinting after them again.

Bobbi turned back to Isabelle. "Our family is pretty unconventional anyway."

Her daughter smiled despite herself, hefting her backpack further up one shoulder. "Yeah, I guess so, Mom."

* * *

"Your daughter wants us to get married," Bobbi told him in an amused tone as soon as he entered the room. 

Hunter looked at her, halfway through pulling off his shirt. "She knows we've been there, done that, right?" 

Bobbi sighed. "She knows." 

"So?" he asked, pulling his shirt off completely and chucking it carelessly at the ground. At her pointed look, he nudged it toward the laundry basket with his foot. "When's your next day off; we can set a court date." 

"What?"

He smiled. "Days off, it's this thing where you don't have to go to work or do work-like things, normal people have them—" 

"No, Hunter!" She smacked him in the arm. "A court date? You want to get married? _Again_?"

He blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Let me think...because last time it ended in divorce?" she asked. "_And_, because the one time we almost tried it after that we agreed that even fate thinks it's a bad idea, and we should never try it again? That we should just take things as they are. Because as it is now, it works."

"And why did we agree to that again?" 

She huffed. "Because the ninjas attacked. But that's not the _point_, the point is—"

"Bob." He held up a hand, placating her. "It's okay. I don't want to get married again if you don't want to get married again. That's kind of how this works, right?" 

"Lance..." She looked at the ground, because looking at Hunter shirtless was _not_ helping her have this conversation in a coherent manner, and twisted her hands together. "It's not that I don't want to get married to you. I did, and it was the happiest day of my life. But it didn't work, and what we have right here, right now—"

"Living in sin."

"—that _does_ work, and I don't want to do _anything_ that could mess that up. I love my life with you, and..." She dared to glance up. "...and I don't want to risk it all for a piece of paper with our names on it."

"Bobbi..." His arms were around her in a second. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shoulder, tucking her face against him and feeling his warm skin against her wet cheek. 

"Don't be sorry," Hunter told her, holding her tight. "It doesn't matter to me, love. I was only suggesting it as a joke, and then because I thought that's what _you_ wanted..." 

"I do want it, I just...want you more," Bobbi murmured. "I just want you."

"You have me," he promised, pulling back to kiss her forehead. "Now and forever, you have me." 

Choking back a watery laugh, Bobbi captured his lips with hers, then pressed their foreheads together. "You have me too." 

Hunter grinned. "I know I do." 

She paused. "You don't think it'll hurt Isabelle, will it?"

"Us not being married?" Hunter shook his head. "We haven't been married as long as she's known us, Bob, and she's turned out fine so far. And if she needs a married couple as an example for something I swear Fitz plans to tie the knot soon."

Bobbi snorted a little in spite of herself. "Well, if he doesn't, I have it on good authority that Jemma will take the initiative and propose to him herself if he takes too long." She caught his eye. "_Don't_ tell him that, Hunter." 

"But it would light a fire under his arse so well," he whined. He sighed. "My lips are sealed. But see? Isabelle is all covered. Us being her parents and working as a unit is the most important thing."

She nodded. "Staying together is more important than how we stay together," Bobbi murmured. She kissed him. "I love you, Lance Hunter."

"I love you too, Bobbi Morse." 

* * *

**AGE 10**

"Can I change my name?" Isabelle asked, walking into the kitchen.

Bobbi laughed. "What would you want to change it to?"

"Not my first name, just my last name," Isabelle clarified. "Before middle school, so everyone has time to get used to it."

"What's wrong with your last name now?"

"It's a huge mouthful!" Isabelle exclaimed. "Everyone else has a normal last name, like ten letters long—max!"

Hiding her smile as she continued to cut up green beans for dinner, Bobbi replied, "Fine, you can just go by one last name for the sake of brevity. It doesn't matter to me."

Isabelle hugged her around the middle, now smiling. "Thanks, Mom." Releasing her, she turned away and headed out of the kitchen. "Isabelle Hunter," she mused to herself. "I like it."

"Wait—_ Hunter _?" Bobbi spun around. "But—Morse is shorter, you know!"

Isabelle grinned but kept going.

"You little traitor," Bobbi muttered to her daughter's retreating back.

"What's this I hear about name changes?" Hunter asked, coming into the room and looking after Isabelle curiously.

"Your daughter's a traitor," Bobbi grumbled, resuming hacking green beans in half.

"Bob, you're pulverizing dinner," Hunter told her, grabbing the knife and setting it down gently beside the chopping board.

"She wants to just go by your last name," she informed him.

Hunter grinned, encircling his arms around her waist. "Daddy's little angel!"

"Only because _ Daddy _ spoils her," Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Dessert before dinner, impromptu trips to frozen yogurt places with her friends after school..."

"It's not my fault you're not spontaneous," he teased. "But don't worry, I'm leaving some of the fun stuff to you. I overheard her and her friends talking at said frozen yogurt shop the other day—soon she's going to ask to be taken out shopping for her first bra." Hunter grinned. "That's all yours, Bob."

"You're so kind," Bobbi deadpanned before burying her forehead in his shoulder. "Ugh, don't remind me that she's growing up. It can't possibly have happened this fast."

"You've had—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "—_ the talk _ with her, right?"

"It's the end of fifth grade; the _ school _ has had the talk with her by now," Bobbi groaned. "But yes, we had the talk."

"So she knows no boys before she's thirty?"

Bobbi hit him in the arm, smirking. "You wish."

"Okay, twenty-nine," Hunter compromised. "But no earlier."

Bobbi grinned. "Yes, go propose that to _ Daddy's little angel _ and see what she says."

"You know, I think I'll wait."

"Uh huh."

* * *

**AGE 11**

“Block!” May called out. Isabelle’s arm shot up to meet the specialist’s swing, fingers flexing as she did so despite the tape. She was wearing a black tank-top and black training pants with her feet bare on the mat and her golden hair bound up in the tight ponytail Bobbi had placed it in half an hour earlier. Although it was somewhat less tight now. 

“Strike!” May said, and Isabelle aimed a powerful kick at the older woman’s stomach which the woman caught with her bare hands. May thrust her leg upwards and knocked her off balance, but Isabelle spun quickly to regain her footing and gain a few precious seconds of breather. “Good,” May said shortly, before calling, “Hit!”

Isabelle feinted with her left arm and swung in with her right, hoping to clip May in the jaw but failing to come within even inches of her face as the specialist dodged expertly, touching Isabelle’s exposed stomach lightly to simulate a jab. Frustration flashed fleetingly in Isabelle’s eyes in recognition of the touch, but she simply readied herself for the next instruction and onslaught. 

“Punch!” 

The girl did, this time coming a hair’s breadth away from May’s side. 

“Dodge!” 

Isabelle ducked the roundhouse kick leveled at her, nearly hitting the mat in her effort to avoid it. May’s outstretched leg sailed harmlessly above her head.

“Strike!” 

She did, just as fruitlessly as the last, but at least managed to avoid the tricky kick May followed up with, hopping nimbly right over the move. 

“Strike!”

Not bothering with a feint this time at all, Isabelle swept her own leg against May’s, locking their ankles in an attempt to unbalance her trainer. Unfazed, May grabbed her arm and hauled the middle-schooler upward, releasing her once she was squarely on her feet with a shout of, “Block!”

Isabelle shot her hand outwards as May punched, catching the wrist of the specialist and jerking it hard towards her and stepping out of the way so that the woman nearly flew past her, landing on elbows and knees on the mat. Isabelle’s young lithe body sailed after her, straddling her abdomen with both legs and pressing just the right points on the arms so that the agent was essentially immobilized, just as she had been taught. 

“That wasn’t a block,” Bobbi said from the sidelines. Isabelle quickly got off of her, scampering to her feet before offering an hand up for May. She took it, begrudgingly, and then stood for a second without speaking. Dark brown eyes surveyed Isabelle, considering. 

“You didn’t follow the sequence,” the specialist told her finally, rubbing her wrist. 

“I still took you down,” Isabelle countered, face effusing with the glow of victory now that the danger of May gutting her for what she’d pulled looked to be past. “An _ eleven-year-old _ took you down!”

“Cheater,” May replied, stepping off the mat. “Go hit the shower; we’re done for the day.” The specialist exited the gym via the door next to Bobbi, saying nothing else. But by the ghost of a smile haunting her lips Bobbi could tell she was proud.

* * *

**AGE 13**

Once again, Bobbi cursed Hunter as the van wheeled out of the garage. The hasty cast on her left arm itched, and the pain meds the crack S.H.I.E.L.D. emergency medical team had put her on made her head feel foggy. 

It wasn’t really Hunter’s fault, of course, except in the fact that he had been standing in the pathway of the bullet and that the bastard had made her fall in love with him so hard that she’d be willing to brave an _ actual _fall in order to push him out of the way—down two stories and onto concrete, fracturing her left arm beneath her, no less. Hunter of course sustained no injuries other than bruises and the possibility of a concussion, although even the ever-cautious Simmons agreed that was unlikely. He could name the date, his location, his favorite brand of beer back in England—he was probably fine. Simmons still mandated bed rest for observation, however, so when the school called Bobbi to inform her that Isabelle was sick, she found herself with no ride. 

So that was how May ended up driving to the middle school with Bobbi in the backseat. “I can _ feel _ the tension coming off you,” May had told her when Bobbi had tried to go in the front. But being relegated to the back wasn’t all that bad—it meant she could worry about Isabelle in peace as they drove. Her daughter had seemed fine this morning at breakfast, although admittedly that was a hurried affair because of the impending mission. Perhaps she had been somewhat withdrawn, but Bobbi had chalked that up to nerves for the hundred-point essay she would have to write in English class today. The school couldn’t tell her much more than that she was sick and wanted to go home over the phone—a stupid school policy, in Bobbi’s opinion. 

“I can still feel you worrying,” May said from the driver’s seat. “Kids get sick all the time. You just aren’t used to it because she gets sick less than most.” 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Bobbi agreed absently. “Thank you for driving, May.”

“Well it was that or watch one of our best agents risk her life driving on painkillers,” the woman replied. She was silent for a moment. “You and Hunter aren’t the only family she has on the base.”

Bobbi smiled. “I know.” Pause. “Apparently she sometimes refers to you as her Crazy Aunt May to her friends at school.”

“I’m turning around right now,” May deadpanned. 

“No, don’t,” Bobbi laughed, feeling some of the tension knotted in her insides begin to loosen. “I’m sure she meant it with love.”

“Good, because we’re here.” May pulled the van into the bus loop and stopped right across from the main office. “You go get her; I’ll park.” 

Bobbi exited the car awkwardly with her broken arm, then proceeded into the school administration building. “Hi,” she said to the man behind the front desk. “I’m Bobbi Morse; I’m here to pick up my daughter Isabelle?”

“Just sign her out right here,” the man instructed, pointing to a clipboard with a short list of names and signatures. Bobbi added hers and the time to it as well as Isabelle’s name before setting the pen down. “First door to your right, and I hope she feels better soon,” the man told her. 

“Thank you.” Bobbi went down the short hallway to the door and knocked once before opening it. Isabelle, with slightly bloodshot eyes and a reddened nose, sat on one of the chairs lined up against the wall inside, and the school nurse could be seen checking the temperature of another student behind a wall of glass. 

“Hi, Mom,” she said glumly, standing up to leave. Her eyes widened. “What happened to your arm?!”

“Just an occupational hazard,” Bobbi replied, their code for a mission-related injury when in public. “How are you feeling?”

“Crappy,” Isabelle answered shortly. They both headed out the door, back past the receptionist, and out into the sunlight. 

“How high was your temperature?” Bobbi asked, pressing her hand to her daughter’s forehead. “You don’t feel that hot.”

“The thermometer would disagree with you,” she said back rather snappily, spotting the S.H.I.E.L.D. van in a parking spot and heading for it with her backpack swinging from one shoulder. “Shotgun.”

“Fine,” Bobbi rolled her eyes. “But seriously, what was it?”

“I don’t know, 99.7?” Isabelle offered. She pulled open the car door. “Can we just go home, please?” 

“Hello to you too,” May greeted her. Isabelle didn’t say anything else, just pulled on her seatbelt and crossed her arms, determinedly facing forward. 

“You’ve never requested to come home sick from a fever that low before,” Bobbi said once they were well on the road and the silence had stretched on long enough. “Did you make it through your English essay?”

Isabelle twisted her head around so quickly to look at her that Bobbi was surprised she didn't get whiplash. “Mom! No! My essay is next period. Just leave it alone!”

“You didn’t pretend to be sick just to get out of doing it, did you?” Bobbi asked, overcome with a sudden cloud of suspicion. 

“No, of course not,” Isabelle said, pupils dilating. 

“Isabelle…”

“I didn’t! I’m good at English and I’d have to make it up anyway. Stop accusing me of things, Mom!”

“I’m not accusing you,” Bobbi sighed. “But there’s obviously more to this story that you’re not telling me.”

“There isn’t,” Isabelle insisted, looking dangerously close to tears. 

“Have you been crying?” she asked, the realization hitting her. Redness in the eyes and nose—not sneezing, but _ crying _. 

“No.” She wasn’t convincing.

“Was it a boy?”

Isabelle shot her mother a look. “_ No _.”

“Did something happen with your friends?”

Slowly, Isabelle shook her head. 

“Did someone else do something to you? Hurt you?”

Her thirteen-year-old was silent.

“Was it a bully?” May asked in her normal, stoic voice. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Isabelle said, knees jumping up unhappily to hit the dash. “I just want to go home.” 

Suddenly Bobbi felt a surge of affection for her daughter, who at the current moment had scrunched herself so small that she looked to be more suited for fifth grade than eighth. “Yeah, of course, we can go home.” The look of relief and love on Isabelle’s face was palpable. 

May said nothing, but the van veered into a sudden U-turn with a squeal of the tires. Even with seatbelts on, they were all thrown against the right side of the car. “What are you doing?!” Isabelle asked. 

“You're going back there,” May told her, not taking her eyes off the road. 

“But Mom just said—” Isabelle looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please, May.”

Within two minutes they were back at the school’s bus loop. “Get out,” May said, affixing her with a gaze that was neither cold nor warm but just stern. “Go back there. Do what you need to do.” She pressed the button to release Isabelle’s seatbelt. “You have to stand up to bullies.”

“May…” Finding no wiggle room there, she looked to Bobbi. “...Mom?”

“This car is not moving until you can come back here with a smile on your face,” May told her. “And I can tell when you're faking, Isabelle Marie.” 

Her daughter gave them both something that was half a glare and half a desperate plea for leniency. Then she opened the door and slid out of the car, heading back onto the school campus. 

“Are you sure we should make her do this?” Bobbi asked once the door had shut again. “We could just leave it until tomorrow...when everything has calmed down.”

“No.”

“Okay, but...are you sure we shouldn't go with her?” 

“No.”

“What if…” One look from May through the rearview mirror silenced her. Bobbi looked out the window. “I just hope she knows this is killing me just as much as it’s killing her.” Two minutes passed with no sign of Isabelle. “Fitz must have showed her how to trick the thermometer the nurse used…” No response. “Means Isabelle went to a lot of trouble to get out of school, doesn't it?” Silence. “Whatever happened must have been really bad…”

“Bobbi.”

With a sigh, she forced herself to sit back in her seat. She was going to have to have a serious talk with Fitz about what 'life skills' he was teaching her daughter. Then again Hunter was currently teaching her to stand on one foot with her head tilted back and how to recite the alphabet backwards as practice for passing field sobriety tests—“But never drive drunk!”—so who were they to talk.

It took either seven minutes and thirty-six seconds for Isabelle to return or, as it seemed to Bobbi, seven million years. But when she finally did, it was with eyes a bit more red-rimmed than before and a smile on her face. She climbed into the car. 

“Is it done?” May asked, sounding more like a shadowy government figure than a concerned parent. Which, Bobbi supposed, she was. 

Isabelle nodded, her smile genuine and widening. “Yes.”

“Good.” 

“Just like that?” Bobbi asked. “What happened? You didn't punch him, did you?”

“No, Mom,” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I know better than to use my secret S.H.I.E.L.D. skills on a civilian. And it was a she.” Bobbi nodded, smiling slightly. “Should I go back to class for the essay?” Isabelle asked uncertainly. “Lunch is almost over, but I haven't missed any class yet…”

“You're already marked as out sick for the rest of the day and I don't feel like explaining all this to admin, do you?” Bobbi asked. 

Isabelle smiled. “No. So, back home?”

“To ice cream, I think,” May started the engine. 

“Really?” Isabelle looked happily between May and her mother. 

“You've earned it,” May told her, pulling out of the bus loop. “And while we’re there, maybe we can have a talk about the nickname ‘Crazy Aunt May’...”

* * *

**AGE 16**

_ Isabelle’s POV _

“Mom, this is ridiculous,” Isabelle said, eyes flashing. “You can't just...just..._ call in reinforcements _ on me. It's not _ fair _!” She stamped her foot on the ground, not even noticing the action until pain lanced up her ankle from the impact. She pretended not to notice, still staring at her mother defiantly. 

“I'm your mother, I have every right to bring in as many reinforcements as I want,” Bobbi replied coolly. 

“I know what I want to do with my life and I'm well on the track to doing it. Most parents would be glad if their sixteen-year-old knew all that,” Isabelle told her angrily. 

Unimpressed by her argument, Bobbi pointed towards the door leading to the lounge. “March. It's not polite to keep people waiting, especially when they've come so far just to see you like your aunt has.”

“You know she's not really my aunt,” Isabelle spat, hardly aware of the words spilling out of her mouth anymore. Was it the truth? Yes. Did it mean Isabelle loved her any less? Definitely not. But would it hurt her stubborn and conniving mother to hear? Hell yes. “And she didn't come just to see me—she came to be your mouth puppet.”

Fed up, Bobbi crossed over to open the door herself. “The Black Widow is no one’s puppet,” she said flatly, turning the handle. “Not anymore.”

Isabelle had no choice but to step through as Natasha caught sight of her. She was seated on the couch with a bottle of vodka on the coffee table, a single glass next to it half-filled with the hard liquor. She heard the door click closed behind her. “So I hear you want to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Natasha said, rising to her feet with a slight smile. 

“Yes,” Isabelle replied defiantly, adrenaline from the argument with her mother still coursing through her veins. “I hear you've come to talk me out of it. I can save you the trouble, Natasha—it's not going to work.”

“Is that any way to greet your aunt?” Natasha asked, eyes sweeping over Isabelle’s battle-ready stance. She stepped forward and embraced her, holding her long and tight and feeling the teenager reciprocate after a second or two. When Natasha released her, she said, “I promise I'm not here to talk you out of it, whatever your mother might think.”

“You're on my side?” Isabelle asked, stunned. 

“I didn't say that,” Natasha laughed, but sobered quickly. “I'm here to give you my perspective. This isn't a decision you can take lightly—”

“_ I haven't taken it li— _!” Natasha’s look shut her up. 

“—but I want you to know where we all come from. And after that, I want to explain a few things to you. I know you think you know what being an agent will be like, but in a few months S.H.I.E.L.D. will be undergoing some massive changes. Even though we’ve been public for over two years now, you've never lived under the S.H.I.E.L.D. that was before, and will be again.” Natasha paused. “Have I at least convinced you to hear what I want to say?”

Abashed, Isabelle looked at the floor, knowing Natasha had heard every word said outside. “I always want to hear what you have to say, Auntie Nat.” 

“I’m glad.” The spy gestured for her to sit down on the couch, then offered her a small glass half-full of clear liquid. 

“...you're giving me vodka?” Isabelle asked, taking the glass with a bemused expression. “Does Mom know?”

“It's water,” Natasha told her. “The vodka’s for me. I don't like talking about things I've put behind me. Vodka helps with that.” 

“Because it dulls the pain of the past?”

“Because it reminds me of it.” 

“Oh.” Isabelle sat down next to her as Natasha took a small swig from the bottle. 

“The first time I remember drinking…” She paused. “It was forced down my throat like fire; I struggled and accidentally inhaled it and nearly died.”

“I'm never trying vodka,” Isabelle said fervently. 

“I was younger than you. Fourteen or fifteen—it all runs together.” She drew her fingers through her curled red hair. “It was to build my tolerance early. And it succeeded.”

“Who...who would do that to you?” Isabelle asked softly. “I mean...I know you don't remember—that you didn't grow up with your parents. And that you were trained to be a spy from a young age. But I never thought…”

“About what that actually looked like?” Natasha asked with a wry smile. “Don't be afraid to ask me questions. You’re old enough to have a few answers.” She paused. “I was raised in the Red Room from a very young age. Their business was training young girls to be a Soviet assassin.”

“A? Just one?”

“Just one.” Isabelle caught the darkening of her eyes, and despite Natasha’s invitation did not press the issue. “I escaped them when I was twenty-one, but by then killing was all I knew. Not just for food to eat or a warm place to sleep, but high-level kills—contracts and regime change and basically anything if I was paid enough. They had given me a very specific skill set, and I didn't care who I used it for...or on.”

Isabelle was silent. She didn't know what to say. She’d always known Natasha’s background was dark and harsh, but her parents had carefully protected from any of this. The Natasha she knew was...not warm, exactly, but always attentive and kind, listening to Isabelle or Lila or Cooper regale her with tales about their days or in the later years complain about the tyranny of their parents. Yes, sometimes she appeared cold and dangerous, but no more so than May did sometimes. She couldn't imagine her killing for anything less than to protect others. She couldn't imagine her killing without caring. 

“Clint was already in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s employ. Coulson’s first big assignment was to be his handler… Fury thought it fitting since it had been his inclination to take in strays that caused Barton to be recruited in the first place. Apparently that inclination was something he passed on to Clint.” At this, the ghost of a smile graced her face. “He spared me when his orders were to kill. He brought me into the fold. I was...resistant...at first, but I came around. He made me come around.”

“That's why the two of you are so close,” Isabelle murmured. 

Natasha inclined her head. “That and he was the only one who could truly understand what it meant to have done unforgivable things...to have lost yourself in the process.” She looked Isabelle in the eyes. “That's why we are at S.H.I.E.L.D. Not because we ever chose it, but because we owe an unpayable debt.”

“Natasha?” Isabelle said slowly. Her heart hammered in her chest as she considered her question carefully. “If it's unpayable...and I'm not saying you should do this or anything like that...then why try at all?”

The assassin was silent for a few moments. “We were made, not born, to be what we are. They made us the instrument of the pain we inflicted on both ourselves and others. We have both fought to break free. Why would we willingly submit to being what they made us? We can be weapons, or we can be people. We can be monsters, or we can be human. At S.H.I.E.L.D., at home, in the field—we make our choice again and again every single day, with every decision that comes before us.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment before meeting Isabelle’s eyes and forcibly smiling. “It's very different for Clint and me than most. That's what I want you to understand. We’re all here for our own reasons, each as valid for the next. I am very thankful that mine will not be yours, should you choose to pursue this life.”

“What about my mom?” Isabelle asked. “When I ask her she just gives me facts. I want to know _ why _.”

“Bobbi…” Natasha looked pensive for a minute. “From what I have seen, Bobbi has always felt a yearning to be of service. Did you know that when she was young, she wanted to be a superhero?”

“What? No!” Isabelle grinned. “Like how young?”

“Your age and younger,” Natasha smiled indulgently. “Bobbi feels an innate sense of duty, and unlike many she has the relentless courage required to step up and fulfill that duty.”

“A regular Gryffindor,” Isabelle smiled. “Like me.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly, gesturing to herself. “Slytherin, of course. But back to the topic...once Bobbi was a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., she developed a strong loyalty to it. Her martial arts skills and fluid, practical way of thinking may have aided her initially, but it was her belief in the cause that propelled her to the highest ranks.” The Widow looked at her. “Growing up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. base surrounded by agents carrying out their duties, I don't know if you feel the same pull.”

“What about my dad?”

“Because of Bobbi. At the time when your family was first reunited, I am certain he would not have stayed if not for her. Now...I am not so sure. He's loyal almost to a fault, and through thick and thin she's what he’s always been loyal to.”

“_ Hufflepuff _,” Isabelle said with a small teasing scoff. Natasha inclined her head. “I know the rest of the team’s stories, but not Phil. You mentioned he was Clint’s handler way back when? Why did he choose to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Coulson is here because he loves Captain America more than life itself,” Natasha told her. They both laughed. “Much like your mother, he feels a sense of duty. He wants to make the world a better place for the little guy—for the one person he interacts with on a mission, whose life he can impact in any way no matter how small. Bobbi looks more at the bigger picture—she was never one for the Welcome Wagon—but focuses on taking out the big bads, the kind that could mean danger for many people that she will never see, much less meet.” Natasha stopped, taking a breath. “You have to understand why we’re all here. Your mom, Clint, me, Coulson—any one of us you admire, because you have to figure out if you truly want to be here. Each of us has sacrificed enormously for this life, by choice or not, and none of us want to see you regret your decision.” Isabelle was silent. “Becoming an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.… It's following orders, even if you might not agree with what they are. It's going on missions that are assigned to you, not the ones you request or helped to plan. It's working with people in a largely professional capacity, always changing, always rotating. What the agents here have built is a family...what S.H.I.E.L.D. will become once again is a bureaucracy.”

“Bureaucracy isn't necessarily a bad thing,” Isabelle shook her head. “It gets a bad rap, but it only means a government characterized by specialization of functions, adherence to fixed rules, and a hierarchy of authority.”

“And red tape, and inefficiency, and a very small level of transparency,” Natasha nodded. “There is a time and a place for bureaucracy. S.H.I.E.L.D. could not function if it was not one. But it will frustrate at times. It will stall. It is made up of humans; no matter how many safeguards put in place it will make mistakes. And so will you.”

“So what are you saying?” Isabelle asked softly. 

“I'm saying being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. means the chance to make a difference in the world. I'm also saying that it requires a lot of sacrifices. A normal life. Normal relationships. Children. These are all things you put in jeopardy when you choose to join S.H.I.E.L.D. The sudden deaths of friends and colleagues. Seeing the light leave the eyes of a person you've just killed. The acts of evil humans are capable of. These are all things that your parents wish to protect you from. They want something more for you—stability, tranquility, everything they have been trying desperately to provide for you since you were a small child.”

“But...it's worth it, right?” Isabelle’s voice was very small. 

Natasha allowed her a small smile. “Your parents obviously think so.”

“Oh. Right,” Isabelle said with an uncertain laugh. “...I do understand more now. Thank you, Natasha. But my decision hasn't changed. I still want to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Mom might claim not to get why, but it's the same for her.” She gazed, clear-eyed, at Natasha. “I want to make a difference, and I want it to mean something and be exciting and cutting edge. I don’t think she gets that I know the sacrifices—growing up here, I’ve seen them firsthand. I still remember Trip, even though I only knew him a few short weeks before he died. And I know my childhood hasn’t exactly been typical—not that I’m complaining; I truly did love it. But I know there were certain things that I couldn’t do, that I had to give up, that Mom and Dad had to give up. I don’t expect that to change when I’m an adult. An agent.” 

Natasha inclined her head. “I’m glad you’ve thought about this, Isabelle. And I can’t say I’m not proud of yourself for your choice.” She stood up, and Isabelle, sensing a closing to their conversation, did as well. The redhead embraced her again. “You are a remarkable young woman, Isabelle.”

“Thanks,” she ducked her head almost shyly. “And thanks for, you know, telling me about all of that. You...you didn’t have to.”

“Any way I could help.”

* * *

_ Bobbi’s POV _

“Here,” Daisy said, proffering her a glass of golden liquid. The bubbles swirled merrily inside it as she lifted it to her lips, letting a small sip of champagne ghost over her tongue. 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. 

“Where's Hunter?” Simmons asked, her arm linked with Fitz’s like it had been ever since they’d arrived, simple rings glittering on both their fingers. They looked especially couple-y with his tie matching the exact hue of her lilac cocktail dress. Daisy was wearing a dark blue number similar in style to that one, while Bobbi had chosen a deep red for the occasion. Even May had been forced into a dress, although try as he might, Coulson could not convince her to wear a certain sparkly silver number. All the men were in suits. 

Bobbi looked across the small section of lawn to where the hors d’oeuvres were being served. She nodded towards him. “There.”

They drifted towards him holding their glasses of champagne. He was bent over the table with an oyster knife in his hand and didn't seem to notice them. “What's he doing?” Daisy asked. 

“Trying to crack open an oyster,” Bobbi rolled her eyes. 

“You have to crack them open?” The puzzled expression on her face shifted to one of annoyance as Simmons gave her an odd look. “I didn't exactly have a lot of high-class dining options while living in my van, Simmons.”

“That was fourteen years ago,” the biochemist protested as Hunter’s knife slipped across the hard, slippery exterior of the shell for the umpteenth time, nearly slicing his finger open. 

“And living on the secret base of an organization that technically wasn't supposed to exist definitely produced more of those opportunities,” Daisy scoffed. “For some reason I was always working back-end for the missions involving fancy parties, even though you guys all know how easily I got that intel out of Ian Quinn back on, what, my _ third _ mission with you guys?”

Fitz smiled. “I seem to remember you jumped from a two-story window into a pool on that one. Yeah, I wonder why Coulson doesn't assign you to ritzy ops…”

“Oh, shut up,” Daisy told him, masking the pink tinge to her cheeks by turning to watch Hunter struggle again. “Aren’t the oysters alive in there; that's why he can't get the shell open? It seems almost inhumane to me.”

“Yeah, well, the oysters are winning," Bobbi laughed. Hunter glared at her before returning his frustrated gaze to the rock-like sea creature in front of him. Taking a small amount of pity on her ex-husband, she took a step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “Just give up, Lance. Hill already talked to the caterer about the mistake and they're coming back with new ones that actually have already been opened.”

“They're less fresh that way,” he grumbled, nevertheless setting the knife down. They walked back to the group, which was now surveying the increasingly sized crowd. Bobbi estimated a couple hundred people had turned out for the event, with a few more still trickling in. 

“I still can't believe this is happening!” Simmons squeezed Fitz’s hand. “Reopening the Academies...for a while there, I didn't think it would ever happen.”

“Makes all the work we did to rehabilitate our image seem worth it after all,” Daisy nodded. 

“It's nice to see the old stomping grounds too,” Fitz scratched his head. “Whose idea was it to hold the launch party at SciTech?” 

“Hill,” Bobbi supplied.

“And it looks almost the same, too!” Simmons said delightedly. “We should thank her. She's really helped pull this all together.”

“She's making the rounds right now, I think,” Bobbi said, scanning over the heads of attendees. “But I'm sure both our directors will come to see us at some point.” 

“Rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. to its former glory was her baby,” Daisy smiled. “Coulson took care of the ops and current affairs, and she renegotiated all of this. Imagine how she must feel tonight.”

“Fury certainly knew how to pick ‘em,” Fitz nodded. 

“Hey, where’d Isabelle run off to?” Hunter asked, turning to Bobbi. “She came in with us and then disappeared.

“Just off to talk to some of the younger agents and the other kids, I’m sure,” Bobbi replied. “She’s not going to get lost.”

“We’re not the young people anymore,” Daisy bemoaned to Simmons.

“No, we’re not,” a new voice cut in. Maria Hill, in an elegant one-shoulder black dress with the small S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle pinned to it. She too looked noticeably older, Bobbi realized—though perhaps the few streaks of gray that ran through her hair were simply stress, not a sign of age. It suited her, somehow—added an air of experience and command that the subject of Fury’s out-of-the-blue and controversial promotion before the Battle of New York had lacked. 

“Director Hill,” they greeted her warmly. 

“How are my senior agents all enjoying their nights off?” Hill asked, joining their small circle. 

“Oh, now we really sound old,” Daisy muttered to Jemma out of the corner of her mouth. 

“Although does it really count as a night off if we’re all here?” Hunter joked. 

“Just shut up and drink your free booze, Lance,” Bobbi told him in a teasing tone. “It's an amazing party, Maria. Hard to believe we have this many agents again.”

“Well, some of those here are government officials or foreign dignitaries,” Hill sighed, looking out at the sea of heads. “But on the majority, yes.”

“And the campus looks wonderful,” Simmons praised her. 

“Thank you,” Maria smiled around at them all. “I couldn’t have done any of it without Director Coulson, or without all of your support and dedication. This is your night as well, as much as it is mine—probably more.”

“Oh, we’re not going to hold your brief abandonment to go work for Stark against you,” Daisy teased. “As long as you finally introduce us, of course.”

“He’s right over there,” Hill offered, rising to the challenge. “I agree; he should meet my best agents.” 

Daisy’s eyes widened. “I'm in. Jemma, Fitz, Bobbi—coming?”

“I’ve met him,” Bobbi said, unsure if her distaste was showing on her face and not caring if it was. “You go on.” 

“Hi, Maria!” Isabelle popped up next to them before the four could leave, gangly boy around her age in tow. “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“That’s ‘Director Hill’ to you,” Bobbi reminded her daughter with a playful swat to the shoulder. 

She rolled her eyes. “_ Mom… _”

“I've tried to instill in you a proper respect for authority,” Bobbi told her. 

"And I've tried to instill a proper disrespect of authority," Hunter added. 

She glared at him as Isabelle looked at Hill. “As you can see, I've had a complicated childhood,” she quipped. 

Their director laughed. “It’s fine, Bobbi. She’s right; I’ve known her since she was little.” She addressed Isabelle. “I was just about to introduce these three to Tony Stark. Do you want to come?”

“Already chatted with him,” Isabelle grinned. “We talked about his work with artificial intelligence and its applications in biology and he uploaded a new version he’s testing into my phone and gave me his number so I can call him to give him my feedback. He’s pretty cool.”

“Whaddya know, Tony Stark has a generous side that has nothing to do with corporate tax breaks,” Hunter quipped. “I’m glad to see you’ve inherited Daisy’s networking skills.”

Isabelle laughed. “I’m not _ quite _sure that’s how genetics works, Dad.” 

Hill, Daisy, and FitzSimmons excused themselves and headed towards where Stark had distanced himself from the main party somewhat, flanked as always by his head of security Happy. 

“Who’s this?” Hunter asked suddenly, noticing the now-very-awkward-looking teen whose hand Isabelle was holding. 

“Oh, right! Sorry, Jamie,” Isabelle said. “Mom, Dad, this is Jamie Davis. His father is—”

“Agent Davis, we know,” Bobbi smiled, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jamie.”

Hunter looked scandalized at the prospect of shaking the hand of the boy also currently holding hands with his daughter, but somehow managed to anyway. When it was done, he leaned close to Bobbi. “See, this is why we should never let her go to parties; she’s far too socially gifted as it is.”

“Anyway, we were just about to try dancing now that they’ve got the music going,” Isabelle told them happily. “See you guys later.”

“Have fun,” Bobbi said. For some reason—maybe Hunter’s fingernails quietly digging into the skin of her wrist—she couldn’t help adding, “And be careful.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes again, saying in an undertone, “I _ know _, Mom. Ad I’d never jeopardize my future as an agent for some guy anyways.” She looked at the boy. “C’mon,” she said, jerking her head towards the music-filled patio. They ran off together. 

Hunter stared after them. “I’m not sure if that should make me feel relieved or anxious all over again. We don’t have to worry about the boy, but she’s still definitely got her sights set on being an agent… So, half-credit?”

“We’ll have to accept it sooner or later,” Bobbi mused, watching them go. She turned to him. “Honestly, does it really surprise you? She’s our kid.”

“I suppose not,” Hunter sighed. He paused. “You think if I go kiss up to Stark he’ll give me some new tech to play with too?”

“Are you a young blonde with boobs?” Bobbi asked. 

He scowled, then realized what she had implied and swore violently. “You don't think that's why he…?”

“He _ is _ Tony Stark,” Bobbi shrugged. 

Hunter turned in the direction of the playboy billionaire in question, looking ready to hit him. “That's my daughter he was ogling!”

“Please don't start a fight with Iron Man,” Bobbi laughed. “You'd lose.”

“Thanks for the support, Bob.”

“I was just kidding,” she promised. “About him being nice to Isabelle because of that, not about you losing.” He shot her a glare. “He has Pepper now, after all. And even Tasha says that he's okay, and you know how hard it is to get her stamp of approval.”

Hunter didn’t seem to be hearing her. “And she's underage!” he spluttered. “Git.” 

* * *

**AGE 17**

Hunter sidled up to her, nudging her with his elbow. “Wh—_at_?” Bobbi asked, lowering her voice to a whisper mid-word at the dozen of significant looks he was giving her. 

“_Isabelle_,” he said, nodding to where their daughter was sitting on the couch as if that explained everything. 

Bobbi began to scrub another plate with the rough side of the sponge. “Yes, she exists. What about her?”

“_She's on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy website! _” Hunter said in a hushed voice. 

She turned on the faucet to rinse the plate before setting it on the rack to dry. “So?”

“_So she's supposed to be doing college research! _” 

Bobbi shrugged. “She's probably just looking at her options for later, getting the admittance parameters so she knows what to look for in a college. Doesn’t mean she's definitely decided she wants to go yet. It's smart—she's keeping her options open.”

“Open?!” Hunter demanded loudly, forgetting for a moment that he was the one who had insisted on the whispering. “_ Open? I've been watching her for hours and that's the only site she's been to besides something called Tumblr! _”

She turned to look at him. “Did you install a program to spy on her screen on her computer again? You know she found the last one.”

“No! I've just been...walking past the back of the couch often this afternoon,” Hunter said. “Don't look at me like that! We wouldn't have any of this information if I hadn't been practicing good parenting!” 

“I believe the word you're looking for is ‘snooping’,” Bobbi deadpanned. “And your information isn't even worth anything. Watch.” She dried her hands and walked out of the kitchen into the lounge. “Hey, Isabelle,” she called. “How's the college search going?”

“Pretty good,” the teen replied, barely glancing at her mother over the screen of her laptop. 

“What're your top choices so far?” Bobbi asked in a friendly manner, coming closer. 

“Actually, I'm not researching colleges, but the Academy of Operations,” Isabelle told her. 

Bobbi did not miss the ‘I told you so’ looks coming from Hunter behind her, but she ignored him. “Well, given you're currently a junior in high school, doesn't colleges sound more pressing to research at this point?” she inquired lightly. 

Isabelle chewed her bottom lip as she studied something closer on her screen, squinting at it slightly. “Not really. I'm planning on applying for their Training and Education program, which takes applicants straight out of high school.”

Hunter made a noise that, if Bobbi didn't know any better, almost sounded like a strangled “Aha!”

“You are not going to skip college,” Bobbi shook her head. 

“But why go? It's not like I'm going to learn anything there pertinent to being an field agent,” Isabelle argued. 

“You're going to college,” her mother said flatly. “And I am not letting you go into the Academy of Operations! SciTech or Communications, maybe, but Ops…”

“You went through Ops,” Isabelle nearly shouted, shoving her laptop to the side and rising to her feet. 

“Yeah, but I got a degree in Biology first,” Bobbi fired back. “It's called being well-rounded, Isabelle.”

“I am well rounded!” She glared at Bobbi before her eyes flicked to her father. “_ Dad _ didn’t go to college!”

“Your teenaged father is not the paragon of good decision making,” Bobbi growled. 

“Oi!” Hunter stopped. “No, yeah, that’s fair…”

“_Daisy _didn’t go to college!” Isabelle continued. 

“Yeah, well, Daisy spent years eighteen through twenty-four living out of her van, love,” Hunter said, looking relieved to have moved on from himself. 

She stared at them furiously, then bent down to slam her laptop lid closed, shoving it angrily under her arm. “It’s not like I’m saying I don’t want to go to a place of higher education, you know!” She stalked out of the room, slamming each foot down angrily with every step as she went. 

After a moment, Bobbi sank down on the couch in the space in which Isabelle has previously been sitting. “Well, that went…”

“Abysmally?” Daisy offered, walking into the lounge. “Possibly even worse than the Oreo debacle of ‘15, although no glasses of milk got splashed in people’s faces this time. But it was lovely for you to point that out about me, thanks, Hunter.” When he didn’t reply immediately, she added, “You know, come to think of it, living in my van wasn’t all _ that _bad...maybe I’ll go tell Isabelle that…”

“Please don’t,” Hunter said with a weak shake of his head. 

“She’s going to college, even if I have to write those applications myself,” Bobbi cut in flatly. 

“That would be kinda unethical, don’t you think?” Daisy asked, coming to sit by Bobbi. 

“Oh. Right. She’s going to write her _ own _ applications, go to college, and...and she’s going to be happy about it!”

“Tall order, there, Bob,” Hunter sighed, sitting on her other side. 

“Not if you do it right,” Daisy said nonchalantly. They both turned to her. “You’ve just got to speak her language. Treat her like an adult.”

“But she’s not an adult.”

“And she speaks English just like the rest of us,” Hunter added. “Not the Queen’s English, mind you, no matter how much I’ve tried to teach her…”

“Come on, you just have to make her feel like she’s not being steamrollered on this. At the end of the day, yes, you can make her go to college—or at least refuse to pay the Academy’s tuition and tell Hill to refuse her a scholarship or even reject her application all together—but there’s two ways this can go. She can hate you for it, or you can strike a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Bobbi asked cautiously. 

“Oh, off the top of my head...that if she goes to college first, you two won’t give her any more trouble about becoming an agent afterward,” Daisy deadpanned. 

Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other. “Well...we have been coming around that idea,” Bobbi admitted. “It’s not like we haven’t been inadvertently training her for it her whole life.”

“Combat, arms, living a double life between here and school…” Daisy listed off. 

“You side with her, don’t you?” Bobbi accused. “You want her to become an agent.”

“Nonsense,” Daisy replied with a smile. “I just want this to stay a family business as long as possible.” With that, she stood up. “Let’s go talk to her.”

“I s’pose,” Hunter muttered. “...by ‘let’s,’ you mean the two of us talk to her while you hide in the corridor, don’t you?”

“After all these years, you catch on quick,” the hacker grinned. 

With a sigh, Bobbi rose to her feet as well and the three of them headed for Isabelle’s room. She knocked on the door, exchanging glances with Daisy who loitered at the end of the hall. 

“Go. Away,” came Isabelle’s voice from within. 

“We have a proposition,” Bobbi called through the door. When there was no response, she just went right ahead with it. “You do your four years at a real college and get a non-S.H.I.E.L.D. related degree, and your father and I won’t try to prevent you from going to the Academy afterwards and becoming an agent if that’s still what you want to do.”

“_Any _ Academy?”

With a huff, “Any Academy.”

The door opened and Isabelle stood there with a carefully guarded expression. “And it’ll be three years of college, not four. Maybe even two and a half depending on how many of my AP scores they accept.”

Bobbi smiled helplessly. “Yes, as long as you get a degree. That’s not in basket-weaving.”

“Fine. Deal,” Isabelle said brightly. “Now, I’ve got college research to do, so...goodbye.” The door shut in their faces. 

Bobbi and Hunter walked back to where Daisy was waiting in something of a daze. “...That was too easy…” Hunter said. “You don’t think...she _ wanted _this to happen? She didn’t want to go to the Academy straight out of high school at all, but pretended she did so we would compromise on the whole being-an-agent thing?”

“The mind of a teenage girl works in mysterious and manipulative ways,” Daisy grinned before walking off down the hallway. 

“And I think we’ve just found one of her accomplices,” Bobbi uttered, staring after her. “I have that feeling…”

“...we always get when we get played,” Hunter finished. “Hoodwinked. Duped by our own daughter.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure…” Bobbi said. 

“What?”

“She’s going to make a great agent someday.”

* * *

**AGE 18**

Bobbi knocked on her room door. "I'm back." The door swung open to reveal Isabelle standing on her tiptoes in a mess that looked almost exactly as widespread as when Bobbi had left five minutes earlier. "Here: bath towel, hand towel, and floor towel," she told her daughter, stacking them in her arms. "I see you've made progress." 

Isabelle stuck her tongue out at her and then literally hopped, skipped, and jumped back to a place where she could put both feet on the floor. "Shut up."

"If you're going to keep sending me out for things you've forgotten, you could just prop the door open," Bobbi suggested dryly. 

"I would, but the door jamb is under one of these piles." 

Bobbi lifted one of the bigger boxes and placed it in front of the open door, stopping it from moving. "Problem solved."

Isabelle shot her a look before dropping the load of towels with a _ thwump! _in one of the boxes. Then she began dropping all the rest of her bathroom supplies inside of it, letting her toothbrush fall helter-skelter with her nail polish bottles and face wash. 

Bobbi pretended to cover her face with her hands. "Oh God, you got your packing skills from your father."

Isabelle just grinned and continued throwing stuff into boxes. Bobbi straightened them up before sealing the sides with tape. 

"Why are you bringing an entire shoebox full of old campaign materials?" Bobbi asked when she reached it. 

"Mementos?"

"You know your dorm room is only so big, right?"

"I need my activist cred," Isabelle said, closing the box on her mother's hand. "That stuff is coming. Just like the end of the human species if we don't do something now to combat climate change." 

"Hey, I got the cans of soup and bag of ramen from the pantry," Hunter said from the doorway. He took one look at Isabelle and stopped. "Whoa...my daughter is a college student."

"Thanks for getting with the program, Dad," Isabelle rolled her eyes. "I'm only leaving..._ tomorrow _."

His eyes swept over her pink 'Ask me about my feminist agenda' T-shirt, black shorts, and blue backpack covered in pins reading things like _ ERA Yes_, _ A Woman's Place is in the White House_, and _ Go Green: Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle_. "But...an _ actual _ college student." He dropped the cans he was holding onto the nearest box and swept her into a huge hug. "Your grandmother has done a number on you."

"All Morse women are feminists," Bobbi said as he released her. 

His eyes were somewhat watery as he looked his precious daughter up and down again. "And bloody hell—go change your shorts," Hunter pointed towards her dresser. 

Isabelle only rolled her eyes. "Relax, Dad."

* * *

“Remind me to tell Coulson…” Hunter had to stop as a huge yawn took over his face. “...that night surveillance ops are intensely boring, even when they end with a dozen men trying to kill us.”

“Ambushes are one hundred times worse when you’re drowsy,” Bobbi agreed, “but we drew lots and it was our turn.”

“Six months without being jumped, and it has to happen on our watch…” 

“Did you text Isabelle that we were back yet?” Bobbi asked as they reached their room. She pulled the door open, ushering him in first before letting the door swung shut behind her. 

“Yes, although I doubt she’ll see it at this hour,” Hunter grumbled, looking down at his phone. He froze halfway through flopping down on the bed, staring at the screen. “Bob, she's calling. What do I do?”

Bobbi wrestled the phone out of his hand with a roll of her eyes. “Hey, Isabelle,” she answered it. 

“Good morning!” Isabelle chirped brightly. 

“Give me my phone back,” Hunter whined, so she tossed it at him. “So what are you still doing up?” 

“Oh, I was just hanging out at a friend’s and now I'm headed back to my room,” Bobbi heard her say after he put it on speaker. 

“How many friends?” he asked. 

“Uh...one?”

“It's 4:30 in the morning; whose room were you in?” he demanded. “Was it Eric? Or Sahil? Please tell me it wasn't Stewart, we met him on move-in day and he gave me a bad—”

“Isabelle, please lay your father’s fears to rest before he gets an aneurysm,” Bobbi requested, coming closer to the phone. 

“It's not my fault he's freaking out,” Isabelle fired back. “For the record, it was Alex, and were were...playing with swords.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Hunter asked in a strangled voice.

She laughed. “Nope. Here, I'm turning this call to video…” A second later, she popped up on the screen, the narrow hallway of her dorm visible behind her. The camera angled down towards the floor as Bobbi heard the sound of a key being inserted into a lock, and when they could see her again the background of the hall had been replaced with that of her dorm room. Grinning, Isabelle produced an actual sword, announcing, “_ I _ am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of My Name, of the blood of old Valyria, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, Mother of Dragons, and rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Both Bobbi and Hunter couldn't help but smile. “You rewatch that show too much,” Bobbi said with a shake of her head. 

“Hey, I read the books too,” Isabelle defended. She lifted her chin high. “_ And _, I ignore the existence of season eight, just like you taught me.”

“I'm glad you're having fun,” Bobbi told her. “Have the time of your life in college, okay? Don't rush through it. The Academy of Operations will be waiting for you when you get out." 

"Assuming S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't fall again," Isabelle quipped, putting the sword down. 

"That's not funny." 

"It's a little bit funny." 

"Isabelle..." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom—HYDRA bad, S.H.I.E.L.D. good—I gotta go get some sleep. Midterm tomorrow." 

"You have a midterm tomorrow?! It's 4:30AM; go to bed!"

Isabelle grinned cheekily. "Night." The call ended. 

They were silent for a minute. "She does know that people _ died _ in the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., right? Good people. Her namesake." Bobbi rested her head on his shoulder. 

"She knows. But at the same time, she doesn't really," Hunter said wisely. "She'll understand someday." 

"That's a comforting thought,” Bobbi deadpanned.

"Maybe we should tell Hill to reinstate the mandatory twice-a-year polygraph again." 

Isabelle’s contact picture appeared on the screen again, and Hunter accepted the video call. “And _ by the way, _ ” their daughter announced rather imperiously, “ _ Game of Thrones _ is one of the subjects on my midterm tomorrow, so I've been _ studying _ for the past six hours, thank you very much.”

“You have a midterm on _ Game of Thrones _?” Hunter asked, flabbergasted. 

“Yep. It's one of the things we’re looking at in my Film and Media Studies class analyzing the role of women and minorities in television through the decades. I’m writing a six-page paper on what those bastards did to Daenerys and Missandei.”

“So there's an entire _ class _ where you watch TV for a grade?” Hunter asked. 

“And analyze it.”

“Wow. And you're taking it. Makes me feel like I'm not getting my money’s worth out of your college education.”

“It fulfills like three GE requirements!”

“Goodnight, Isabelle,” Bobbi said. “We love you.”

“Love you too.” She hung up. 

Hunter looked at Bobbi. “Can _ I _go back to college?”

“NO.”

* * *

**AGE 21**

_Isabelle’s POV _

Her new living space was crowded, but even though they were all squashed like sardines in the small dorm room, Isabelle couldn't help but feel a burst of pride that every member of the team had immediately volunteered to help move her in. They carried boxes, investigated her room for damage, and just generally tried to make themselves useful in every way possible, which really meant unpacking things twice, reorganizing the things someone else had already put away—sometimes more than once and sometimes with stuff they’d forgotten that they’d put away themselves—and, in the case of Coulson and Fitz, bumping heads quite hard while reaching for the same, last box. And she loved them for it. 

But also, they were driving her crazy. 

“Why don't we all head down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat?” Daisy suggested finally. 

May shot her a skeptical look. “They’ll be serving MREs and odorless emergency rations from now until December to get the recruits used to that taste.”

“Oh,” Daisy shuddered. “I don't think _ anyone _ can get used to that taste.” 

“Why not take Isabelle out to eat?” Coulson asked. “One last meal before the regimen of soggy cardboard begins.”

“Thanks, guys, for helping me feel real optimistic about these next few years,” Isabelle rolled her eyes. 

May smirked. “You shouldn't. The Academy of Operations is where optimism goes to die.”

“Where optimistic people get extra push ups,” Coulson added. 

“Where they get stuck with 3 A.M. to 5 A.M. guard rotation,” Bobbi nodded. 

“Where they get three extra miles on the track,” Hunter agreed. 

“Dad, you didn't even _ go _ here!” They all laughed, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. Isabelle waded through the sea of bodies to open it.

“Hi!” the young woman on the other side greeted her cheerfully. “I'm Zoey Park, your new suitemate.” Zoey was a few inches shorter than Isabelle, but then again, Isabelle had inherited her mother's genes regarding height. 

“I'm Isabelle Morse-Hunter; it’s great to finally meet you,” she replied. 

“I was just about to get dinner with some of the other cadets on this floor,” Zoey said. “I was wondering if you’d want to join us?” Her eyes slid past Isabelle and onto the eight other people squeezed in the room. “_ Holy shit _ ,” Zoey hissed. “ _ Is that the Cavalry? _”

“Wonderful, the rumors survived,” May muttered from behind her. 

Phil squeezed her hand. “I don’t think the legend’s ever going away, Mel.”

“Just give me one minute to,” Isabelle said to Zoey before lowering her voice, “_ get rid of them _.”

“I heard that,” said Fitz. “I have very good hearing. Not as good as a monkey’s, obviously, but…”

“Yeah, of course,” Zoey smiled brightly. She shut the door behind her. 

“Sorry, guys,” Isabelle shrugged, not feeling very sorry at all. From the smiles on their faces, they didn't hold it against her anyways. 

“It's fine, Isabelle,” Bobbi told her. “The food you guys are about to eat is more than enough punishments for snubbing us.” 

“If you can even call that food…” Daisy scoffed. 

“I guess that's our cue to take off,” Coulson said. He went in for a hug. “Take care of yourself. We’ll see you around on occasion...most of us have a guest lecture or two lined up.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? At Operations? Even FitzSimmons?”

“I have one on the new defensive capabilities of the body armor being developed at Sci-Tech,” Fitz defended. 

“And I have one on the safety protocols of modern-day bio-weapons _ and _ one on effective communication between field agents on the ground and the scientists backing them up at base,” Simmons said, sounding no less affronted. May snorted at that last one. 

“Okay, okay—so I'll be seeing you guys around,” Isabelle agreed. “But please don't call me out in class to answer questions or anything like that. That would be...nepotism.”

“Not quite,” Coulson said. “But don't worry. We won't treat you as anything different than a regular recruit, Cadet Morse-Hunter.”

“Thank you, Director Coulson sir,” Isabelle mimicked his tone. They all laughed. 

“Remember to stretch in the mornings before training,” Bobbi told her. 

“Remember to be in single file lines if you don't want laps,” May added. 

“Remember to stay in the blind spots of the security cameras when buying things off the black market,” Coulson said. 

Her mother looked halfway between scandalized and laughing. “Sir!”

“But as director, I know nothing about that of course,” he amended. 

They all hugged her and said their goodbyes.“Kick some arse for us, love,” Hunter said as she embraced him. 

“And remember that we love you,” Bobbi smiled. 

“I love you guys too,” Isabelle promised. “Now, shoo!” She forcibly pushed them all out the door. One escaped her purge, however. 

“They say the Academy pushes you to your limits,” May said quietly from where she was standing in the corner. “Physically, intellectually, mentally, emotionally. They're wrong. You'll only come up against your true limit in the field...this is merely practice.”

Not sure what to say, she just looked at the older woman, more than slightly disquieted. 

Then the specialist’s solemn visage broke into a rare smile. “But I am sure you will rise to the challenge, Isabelle.”

* * *

**AGE 24**

_ Bobbi’s POV _

“You have to tell me some time,” Bobbi said exasperatedly to her stubborn daughter. 

“No, I don't.” 

“I could just ask Coulson…”

“I specifically requested that the director keep my file as private as any other agent’s, including from you,” Isabelle told her. 

“You didn't.”

“Okay, no, I didn't, but I could! What does it matter to you anyway—it's probably not anyone you know!”

“I know a lot of people,” Bobbi defended. “And Natasha knows even more, and Hunter… You get the idea.”

“Hate to break it to you, Mom, but Natasha’s kind of antisocial with the exception of you and Clint and the last time Hunter went on a mission without you I was thirteen and he complained so much that afterwards Coulson declared ‘never again.’”

Her mother stared at her. “Your memory’s too perfect for your own good; you know that? But would you _ please _ just tell me who your SO is so I can go back to sit with the rest of the team?”

“Fine,” Isabelle relented. “It's Camden Marsh. Happy?”

“Yes, thank you.” Bobbi placed a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Have a wonderful graduation ceremony. We’ll all be watching.”

They weren't. 

“What was the name again?” Fitz asked, fingers poised over the keyboard of his phone to search it in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database. His voice was low over the droning of the announcer. 

_ “...came from many different backgrounds when you arrived, whether it was high school, college, the military, or another government organization, but over the course of your training here you have grown together to become the newest agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.…” _

“Camden Marsh,” Bobbi repeated quietly. 

“Wait, did you say Marsh?” Daisy whispered. “They say she's the Victoria Hand of the next generation.”

Bobbi smiled. “Isabelle will be in good hands then.”

“Good but _ crazy _ hands,” Daisy hissed. “She was such a stickler for protocol that she was practically hot glue gunned to it.”

_ “...though I doubt many of you made it through all one hundred sixty-five pages of your contract. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mission call be distilled dorm to one word: protection. We protect the world from secrets it's not ready for. We track new and dangerous technologies to make sure they're not being abused. We monitor the existence of gifted individuals and ensure both the safety of them and those around them. We…” _

“Got it,” Fitz murmured, staring down at his phone. “Agent Camden Marsh, 42, joined back in 2022 under Maria Hill. Past history as an officer in the army and then FBI. Currently works out of the Hub. She's a defcon two asset in the field.”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “_ We’re _ defcon two.”

“Who's defcon one?”

“The Avengers.”

“Oh.” 

_ “...the bravery, intelligence, and determination that you have shown here has earned you a spot among our ranks. You are all now agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Each of you has been assigned a senior supervising officer that will work with you for a year and…” _

“She graduated top of her class at West Point,” Fitz whispered. “Fourth woman to ever do so in 214 years.”

“Shh,” May glared at them from the end of the row. At first Bobbi just thought she was doing it in general, but then the woman nodded towards the stage. 

“And now, let us welcome Directors Maria Hill and Phil Coulson to the podium,” the man in front of the microphone said before stepping back and letting the co-directors into the limelight. 

“Thank you,” Maria said, looking out at them all. She was dressed smartly in a blue S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform while Coulson was wearing his traditional suit and tie. “First I would like to congratulate each and every one of you for choosing to be here and for coming this far. The Academy is the most elite institution for training agent in combat, arms, interrogation, and languages in the world. Our curriculum is vigorous, as I'm sure you all know.” There were a few quiet chuckles from the audience. “But one of the first things we like to teach here at the Academy before sending you off into the real world is what you are capable of. Second, some of you sitting in front of me can speak twelve languages. Some of you can sharpshoot from half a mile away in heavy wind. Others can crack a skull with a single punch. Play to your strengths, and recognize the value of becoming a team.”

“As my supervising officer once told me,” Coulson cut in smoothly, “a man—or woman—can accomplish anything once they realize they can be a part of something bigger. You are all a part of something bigger now, and with that—please look under your chairs.” There was a general shuffling among the cadets as they all reached under their seats to withdraw a bundle of cloth. “Put on the uniform,” Coulson instructed. “Then we will call you up one by one to receive your badge as agents.” The shuffling rose to an excited murmur sweeping through the audience. Only one they had all donned the S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket did Coulson resume. “First row, stand at attention. Agent John Anderson.” A man in the left most seat of the first row mounted the steps to the stage, accepting his metallic badge from Hill and an updated ID from Coulson, shaking hands with both before exiting the stage. “Agent Blair Carson.” The next woman walked up, repeating the process. Soon the whole row was finished, then the second was halfway done, then all the way—at the start of the third row: “Agent Isabelle Morse-Hunter.” 

Bobbi’s hand clutched Hunter’s tightly as their daughter mounted the steps to receive her badge and ID. She shook hands with Maria first, saying something longer than a simple ‘thank you’ as she did so, and then moved on to Coulson, eyes shining. 

When the ceremony was over, Isabelle met them outside with squared shoulders proudly emblazoned with the S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle and flushed cheeks as they all congratulated her. Everyone except Coulson, that was, because he still had to wade through the sea of agents and others seeking his handshake in order to make it over to them. Looking out across the crowd—unable to look at Isabelle standing there holding her very own S.H.I.E.L.D. badge for a moment longer without risking bursting into tears—Bobbi saw that their group of proud family members was by far the largest. Which made sense, seeing as you needed security clearance just to come to the ceremony. 

“Thank you guys so, so much,” Isabelle told them all. “I couldn't have done it without you.” 

“When do you start?” Daisy asked interestedly. 

Isabelle turned to her. “Supposedly we’re supposed to get a week off so we can go home and have some time to move into the base we’re stationed at, but Agent Marsh wants me to start right away so I'll be headed out to the Hub tonight with my stuff shipped later.” Daisy, Fitz, and Simmons shared ‘I told you so’ looks. Isabelle caught them. “Learning under her is going to be amazing, even if she is strict and kind of—”

“A hardass?” Hunter supplied. They all laughed, with Isabelle checking guiltily over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear them. 

They spent another fifteen minutes or so reminiscing and generally enjoying each other’s company—perhaps for the last time in a while—until a black-haired agent in full uniform with flinty eyes walked up to Isabelle. 

“Agent Marsh,” she exclaimed, immediately standing up straighter. 

“Agent Hunter,” she greeted back, making Hunter jump slightly at the sound of his name coming out of the stern-looking woman’s mouth. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said. She looked at the others encircled around her, then gave her mother a quick hug and let her father give her a swift peck on the top of the head. Agent Marsh nodded to them all curtly before leading their daughter away and toward the Academy’s hangar. 

Hours later, they were back at home. Bobbi hadn't expected it to feel as empty as it did without Isabelle—she’d been away at college for three years and then the Academy for another another three already—but it still was different now, somehow. Their daughter was an adult. Not just in the eyes of the law as she had been at eighteen, but she was a functional member of society and while yes, Bobbi had obviously wanted that for her, it still meant she didn't really need them anymore. She had a job of her own making, an income to support her, a place to live more permanent than a dorm room. This was the first time that here, with Bobbi and Hunter, was not ‘home.’ 

Seated on the couch with Hunter, she was as quiet as he was with their hands intertwined in between them. “She’ll be fine,” Bobbi uttered finally. 

His eyes refocused. “Of course she will. She's had the best teachers—Mockingbird, the Cavalry, Turbo, Tremors, me…”

“Why are you the only one Mack hasn't nicknamed?” Bobbi asked in a teasing voice. 

“Because my nickname is just _ Hunter _ in that exasperated voice he uses whenever he says it.” Her lips curved upwards. "I love you,” he told her. 

Her smile widened. "I know.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, so close their noses were almost touching. 

"Do you want to watch _ Star Wars _?" Hunter asked. 

"Yes." She vaulted off the couch and held out a hand to haul him to his feet. 

"You are my perfect woman, Bob," Hunter said, punctuating his words with a kiss. 

"And don't you forget it."

Sometime halfway between opening the case and getting the DVD in the player, Bobbi's phone rang. Coulson didn't bother with a greeting, which could only mean one thing. "Agent Morse, suit up with Agent Hunter and meet at Quinjet Five. You'll be mounting a rescue operation for an undercover asset off the coast of Havana in a four-person strike team with Agent Camden Marsh and her agent-in-train—"

"We'll be there, sir," Bobbi said immediately, staring at Hunter as she ended the call. 

"What?" he asked, nonplussed. "Mission?"

She nodded. 

"Damn it. Always when we want to watch_ Star Wars _..." he sighed. 

"Mission with Isabelle."

Hunter froze. Then they both bolted out of the room to get changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's a wrap. First and foremost, I have to thank redlighting for giving me this prompt and encouraging me to turn it into a story. Second, to VanillaAshes and daisiesinajar for your help with plotlines, characters, general beta stuff - I haven't spoken to either of you in a while but in case you see this, this fic would not be the same without your involvement. Third, to Here_For_Huntingbird, your comments and enthusiasm have been the best part of posting this fic. 
> 
> Finally, to all of you who read it - fics like this would not be at all possible without your readership and encouragement. Hopefully we'll cross paths again over some other story, be it yours or mine. 
> 
> Until then, don't die out there, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters posted every three days! Please let me know what you think :)


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